


Always Together, Eternally Apart

by kedriaa



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Cameos, Curses, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Ladyhawke - Freeform, Ladyhawke homage, M/M, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:56:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedriaa/pseuds/kedriaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stricken by an ancient curse, Fenris and Anders are forced to live half their lives in animal form until a chance meeting places them upon the path to breaking the curse. Together with their friends, both old and new, they set out to end their torment once and for all.</p><p>Written for the  Meme, and inspired by the movie "Ladyhawke."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The weighted darkness began to lift as the first tendrils of dawn curled up from the horizon. The clear sky promised another mild autumn day, but a touch of chill in the air was a sure sign winter was close.

A carpet of browns, reds and oranges lay thickly upon the forest floor, ever muffling the stealthy gait of the wolf. He moved with purpose, following a familiar scent to his quarry; not to hunt, but simply to find. He moved on instinct, not really knowing why he was drawn to his quarry, only that he needed to find it before the sun rose.

There; the scent was strongest – a mix of plants and flowers that he could not remember the names of, if he even knew them in the first place. He slowed in his pace, carefully sniffing the air to determine that nothing sinister lurked. Even as a wolf, he recognised the touch of man things – the burned out wood in a hole in the ground, the long shiny stick with a sharp edge that bit, and a pile of fur that the man things could remove. One of the fur lay apart from the rest of the things, draped over a fallen log. It was black, and somehow inviting. The wolf approached it then sat on his haunches beside it, his bright green eyes watching east.

As the rising sun peeked over the horizon, a low growl rumbled in the back of the wolf's throat and he laid his head low. Discomfort creeped under his skin and disorientation coloured his vision. The sharp tang of the forest and clarity of its sounds faded, and a pang of regret filled him when these acute senses were reft from him. It was a curious thing for a wolf to feel, yet in those brief moments he knew he was both wolf and yet, not.

Joints popped and creaked, muscles shifted and stretched, and Fenris had often wondered how terrifying he must look as the curse claimed control over his body. Once the malaise had passed, he reached for the cloak on the log and pulled it around his shoulders. He took a moment to try to hang on to the fleeing memories of his time spent as his namesake, but as always, they vanished like the darkness had, leaving him with nothing but faint emotions of his experiences.

Fenris rose and walked over to the camp, specifically to his armour, all piled in a neat stack. He dressed quickly, feeling rather vulnerable in the nude. Strange that he did not feel such insecurities when clad in nothing but fur. He slung his sword over his shoulder, and dug out the half-hidden rucksack from under a balding bush.

His eyes raked over his immediate vicinity but he found no movement. Fenris hefted the rucksack onto his other shoulder, then whistled sharply before wending his way through the forest again.

~*~

His journey had proven uneventful, thankfully, till evening came. The sky was darkening, and he was ready to make camp, when an unpleasant whiff caught his attention. He wrinkled his nose, wondering what imbeciles would come upon their prey from upwind, especially when they had neglected to bathe. He dropped his rucksack and drew his sword just as several men came charging towards him.

_Bandits,_ Fenris thought scornfully as he swung wide, catching one in the chest and sending the bandit tumbling into another. He parried the next attack and swiftly repaid in kind. The bandit collapsed without so much as a peep. One of the first two has risen and tried for another charge. Fenris sidestepped the clumsy thrust and cleaved the man in two. 

Fenris then turned in time to see an archer nock an arrow. Just before the archer loosed it, something leapt at him from the tree, making the arrow fly askew.

A rather large lynx, gleaming golden and white in the fading light of the day, snapped and clawed at the bandit ferociously – not enough to kill, but enough to leave painful, and likely permanent, reminders of this little encounter. The bandit fled, screaming in agony and terror, whilst the lynx sent him off with more snarls and snaps. The lynx gave chase for several more yards before turning and trotting back to Fenris. The lynx looked at the bandits then turn his nose up and sniffed disdainfully; his eyes accusatory.

"It's hardly my fault if they smell, is it?" Fenris replied prickly, picking up the rucksack. "I don't suppose you know a good place to make camp?"

The lynx turned and began walking away. Fenris took it as a yes and followed. They came upon a copse of trees growing in a tight circle. The lynx had wriggled under it and when Fenris bent down to peer between a couple of trunks, he saw that there was sufficient room for one person to spend the night. It was rather well hidden. He nodded his approval and set down the rucksack and the sword. 

Even without looking at the horizon, Fenris could feel that sunset was fast approaching. He pulled out a cloak from the rucksack, a grey woollen one, and hung it on a low branch, then hastily removed his armour piece by piece, pretty much dropping each one onto the dirt as he headed away from the camp. Upon shedding his undertunic, leaving him clad in nothing but his leather trousers, he vanished into the forest to await the curse.

Night passed in a blur of smells and sounds. From what little Fenris could remember, the night had been quiet. When he returned to camp, it was packed up neatly as it had been the night before. As he pulled the rucksack out, he spotted a piece of parchment tuck into the front pocket.

A frown furrowed his brow, simultaneously he felt delight squirming in his chest. He pulled the parchment out and unfolded it, taking in the familiar script. He then tucked the note into a hidden pocket at the bottom of the rucksack, along with the others. Fenris decided then he had to do something about them before they completely filled the pocket. 

Perhaps it was time to skim the fringes of civilisation again. The supplies needed to be replenished, and he always tried to keep abreast of the current news of the domain they were in. 

~*~

It had taken Fenris a day and a half to find a merchants' road. Although, in the backwaters of the realm, these roads were little more than a beaten path. Nevertheless, they led the way to large villages and sometimes even a small town. Even as he followed the path, he stayed within the forest. He was perhaps being slightly paranoid seeing he had not seen anyone in since the bandits, but he would rather stay safe than be sorry. Before long, he caught sight of a fairly large fishing village by a lake, which was overlooked by a keep upon a cliff.

He watched the village, taking in the activities in and around it to gauge the risk of trading there. As he watched he heard a rustle in the underbrush, but spared it no second thought. He knew that he had been followed. The lynx sauntered out.

"There you are, you mangy cat. I had half hoped you had finally decided to leave me in peace," Fenris said, despite his seemingly harsh words, his voice bore no rancour. The lynx approached him and summarily dropped a half eaten rabbit at his feet. 

Fenris looked at the bloody carcass, unimpressed. "Thank you but no, I prefer my rabbits cooked. I'm heading for the village, you should stay here. Find some place safe."

The lynx looked at him with a somewhat bored expression. Fenris was never sure how much the lynx understood, but eventually he leapt up into a tree gracefully and perched upon a branch high beyond reach. A contented purr rumbled deep in his belly as he settled down to nap.

A smile tugged at Fenris' lips. "I'll be back before sunset," he said by way of goodbye. 

Fenris pulled his cloak close and drew his hood up. His distinctive looks had brought him trouble more times than he cared to count. He made his way into the village square, relieved that his presence did not draw too much attention. The village must be used to travellers. The only people who cared to accost him were hawkers peddling their wares.

Reluctant to ask for directions, he searched for any signs or symbols on store fronts that could help him identify them. He walked by an inn and found a blacksmith, clearly indicated by a bed and two crossed swords hanging over their respective doorways. He spotted a Chantry, and what looked to be a general store. Further down a wooded path, tuck away in the corner by the lake, stood a small building with a broken sign of what could be a potion vial. Judging from the dark oily smoke that curled out from the chimney at the back, Fenris was certain it was the village's apothecary.

"What can I get for you?" a wizened man shuffled out of the back room to greet Fenris. 

"I was hoping you could read something for me," Fenris said quietly. "For a small fee, of course."

"Certainly." He gestured for Fenris to follow him to a small table cloistered in the corner of the shop. Upon the table was a neat stack of parchments, an inkwell and several quills. It would seem Fenris had come to the right place; the apothecary must be one of the few people around here that could read and write. It was clearly a service he provided for the villagers. 

"Thank you," Fenris replied briefly before handing a small stack of parchments to the old man.

The old man turned up the flame in his lamp and began reading the notes. He read them in a no-nonsense monotone, making no judgement or conclusion to the contents. Fenris listened intently. Most of the notes were trivial ramblings, words shared out of boredom and isolation. Fenris could not help but feel guilty because of that. They often travelled in the day, and it was Fenris who had always made the trips into civilisation, for precious few establishments conduct their business after sundown.

The other notes were requests for odds and ends, basic, and sometimes frivolous, things that they needed for their travels. Fenris took special note of those. He had always endeavoured to fulfil those requests whenever he could. 

When the old man offered to write a reply, Fenris politely declined. The old man also kindly told him where he could obtain the things listed in the notes. Unsurprisingly, a large number of them came from the old man's own store. Fenris paid and thanked the old man and left without delay. Dusk approached; he had wanted to obtain the rest of his supplies before returning to the forest.


	2. Chapter 2

Anders shivered as he pulled on his grey woollen cloak. Winter was definitely coming, and he hated winter. In times like these he wished he could stay in his lynx form until the cold had been banished. He hurriedly gathered a few handfuls of firewood and set them alight with a flick of his wrist before digging out the rest of his clothes from the rucksack. The fire provided him both with a meagre warmth and some light to get things done.

The howl of the wolf briefly drew Anders' attention from his dressing and a wan smile ghosted over his lips. It was Fenris' way of telling Anders he was near. Anders knew Fenris would first explore the area, ensuring that it was safe then he would hunt. Once he had eaten his fill, he would resume his patrol. Fenris would often go without sleep for days, so Anders had always insisted that they stay more than a night at any location they deemed safe, in order for Fenris to rest while Anders kept a watchful eye over him in the day.

Anders had found another well-hidden place to camp – this time a small cave at the foot of the mountains, with an added bonus of a small clean spring at the back; and had decided they would linger. Fenris had been keen on moving them as far away and as quickly as possible from the fishing village he had visited. That meant he had been pushing himself quite hard for the last few days. Anders had not felt such weariness, given that he had the opportunity to rest at night, and while in his animal form he could endure greater distances without tiring. 

First of all, he went in search of the clothes that Fenris had left behind following his transformation, then he set out to collect firewood before digging a deep fire pit by the mouth of the cave – near enough for the fire to warm the cave, but not too close that the smoke would smother him in his sleep. He had learned it the hard way when they had spent their very first night in a cave. He had awoken to a large frantic wolf dragging him out of a smoke-filled cave by his shoulder. Anders had thought for a moment then, the snarling wolf was literally going to chew him out for being an idiot. 

In all that time they had been running, Anders had learned a lot, mostly through trial by error. At least he was a fast learner, rarely repeating the mistakes he had made. He wouldn't give the wolf the satisfaction. Often he had seen the wolf hovering just at the fringes of his vision, convinced that the beast was having a good laugh at Anders' expense. It was irrational, Anders knew. His own experiences in animal form had told him he did not possess the same level of intellect and emotions as he did when he was human. There was no doubt he was more aware than the average lynx, still, for Fenris to deliberately make fun seemed implausible.

As Anders carried on with his chores – such as refilling their water gourds, preparing the sleeping space, and he even went as far as to forage for berries and fruit – he felt oddly domestic but he didn't mind. Keeping busy meant that he wouldn't be moping about the awful situation they were in; he had already spent a lot of time doing that.

One last thing he had decided to do before turning in was getting himself thoroughly clean. He was not about to squander the perfect opportunity to have a bath. Sure, they had bathed whenever they could – in chilly lakes and freezing rivers, but here in this modest little cave with the modest little pool, Anders could exploit his Maker-given gifts and heat the water. It was as close to a civilised bath as he could get. 

Delicate tendrils of steam curled up from the pool to beckon Anders like a demon would an unlearned apprentice. He stripped, then threw in his, and Fenris', clothes as well – what's the point of being clean if you have to wear dirty clothes? – before sinking into the perfectly warmed water with an indulgent sigh. He lamented that Fenris could not enjoy this with him. 

Anders picked up the bar of soap and took in its fragrance. It was one of the things that Fenris had bought during his last trip to the village. Anders was pleasantly surprised that it was not a generic lye soap, instead he could detect delicate hints of embrium and lavender in it. He took his time in getting himself and the clothes clean.

It was near midnight before Anders could bring himself to exit the pool. With a bit more creative use of his Elemental magic, he dried the clothes swiftly and redressed. He was definitely feeling a lot more human than he had in weeks. As he bundled up in the bedroll he wonder how long they could linger without Fenris getting nervous.

~*~

Anders was startled out of sleep with his heart pounding, his hands shaking, and the echo of a howl ringing in his ears. He was unsure if what had woken him up was a product of a nightmare or something real. He heard nothing but his own rapid breaths, and the forest was quiet, too. Then, in a distance, a barely audible whimper seemed to filter through the twilight breeze.

"Fenris!" Anders cried, springing to his feet, knowing his companion was in trouble. He dashed out of the cave and began his frantic search. Fenris could be anywhere, but the fact that Anders heard him cry for help meant he could not be too far. Anders whistled at intervals, hoping that Fenris would reply with a growl, a howl, or even more whimpering.

Then he heard it – a piteous whine, and hurried in its direction. Anders swore vehemently when he found Fenris on the ground, his hind paw caught in a cruel trap. Even as he felt the urge to rush to Fenris, Anders knew that injured animals were dangerous. He lowered himself on his fours and crawled slowly to Fenris. In those doleful green eyes, Anders could see a flash of recognition. Somehow, through the haze of his bestial nature, Fenris understood that Anders was there to help, and not harm him.

Anders carefully reached for Fenris, allowing the wolf to sniff him before laying a reassuring hand on the wolf's shoulder. Anders moved closer to examine the trap, to figure out how to release it without causing Fenris any further harm. Suddenly, Fenris growled, low and menacing, baring his teeth with deadly intention.

Hastily, Anders snatched his hand back; better safe than sorry. It was then Anders heard it – the muffled clip-clop of a horse's hoofs upon dirt. Fenris continued to growl, and Anders made an educated guess that the trapper had return to check on his traps.

"Oi!" the trapper shouted when he saw Anders. "That's me catch!" He leapt off his horse and drew his axe, swinging it in some feeble attempt of intimidation.

By this time Anders was seeing red, it would have taken the Archdemon itself to put any kind of fear in him. He rose to his feet, drew himself up to his full height, and then some more. 

"Wretched cur! You will pay for this," he hissed in an icy voice as summoned mana coalesce in his palm.

"Mage!" the trapper spat as if it was a filthy word. He raised his axe and charged at Anders.

"I'll show you why mages are feared," Anders snarled, hurling the incandescent orb at the trapper. Upon impact, the trapper staggered back with a cry of pain and then was encased in ice. Anders calmly walked over to pick up the trapper's axe, and then swung with all his might. The ice shattered into a million pieces, winking eerily in the pale moonlight.

Discarding the axe, Anders turned his attention back to Fenris. The wolf looked warily at him.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you," Anders said reassuringly, reaching out once again to lay his hand on the wolf's shoulder. Within moments, the wolf shut his eyes and all the tensed muscles in his body relaxed. Anders had cast a sleep spell in order to work more efficiently, and safely, as well as to spare Fenris any further pain.

Anders examined the trap again. While he was certain that the trapper would have tools to open the traps, he wasn't prepare to mess around with a contraption he knew very little about and risk causing further harm. So far ice had proven to be very useful that night and metal was rather brittle when chilled to extreme cold.

The hinges of the trap broke apart with a satisfying crack and Anders gently moved each half of the trap off the wolf's paw. Healing animals was a new frontier to him, he would not rush into this; thus he examined the wound carefully and was relieved to find that the bone was not too badly broken. Once healed, it would still be sore for a day or so but he was certain it had not cause any permanent injury.

The next challenge that Anders faced was one of logistics. He doubt he could carry a full grown wolf all the way back to their camp. A quiet nicker and a soft thump reminded him they were not alone – the trapper's horse stood a few feet away from them, calmly grazing in the underbrush. It was surprising that it had not been spooked by the fight or the presence of a wolf. It must've been used to them. 

Anders was in luck, the trapper did have the means to transport his unfortunate prey, even if the cart was rather blood stained. In fact, it looked to Anders that the trapper was rather well equipped. Anders had no qualms in taking everything with them. As far as Anders was concerned, it was a paltry recompense for what the trapper had done to Fenris.


	3. Chapter 3

When Fenris woke he was surprised to find himself already changed and wrapped snugly in blankets. It was the presence of the furry body purring not far from him that told him not to panic. It was pleasant; Fenris could not recall when they had last been this close to each other. After all, cozying up to a wild animal was rarely a good idea, which brought up the question as to how and why Anders had Fenris sleeping in the cave with him.

The lynx, who seemed to have realised Fenris was awake, stirred. He stood, stretched languidly and then left the cave. Fenris propped himself up on his elbows to watch the lynx saunter out with nary a purr or a yowl. Fenris eyes was then drawn to the rest of the cave. He blinked in surprise, their possessions seemed to have doubled in the night.

What in the Maker's name happened?

As Fenris sat up, a dull ache radiated from his left leg. The pain triggered a flash of emotions and sensations – a shock of agony lancing through him, followed by fear then relief, the prickly feel of magic under his skin and lastly a sense of serenity. Fenris could not recall the actual events, but he knew enough that somehow he had been injured. Judging by the faint bruise that still marked his ankle, Fenris concluded he had gotten himself caught in a trap.

Silently, he berated himself. How could he have been so careless? He had gone more than three days without rest before, why had he faltered last night? He was just grateful nothing bad had happened to Anders.

Atop his neat pile of clothes, Fenris found a rather long note, no doubt Anders' retelling of last night's event, and a bar of soap. Fenris pulled a face – alright, he could take a hint. He grabbed the soap, hobbled gingerly to the pool, and braced himself for the cold. Instead, he found the water to be warm. It was during these rare instances that Fenris grudgingly admitted that magic had it uses; but only to himself. Maker knew Anders would be insufferable if he ever heard Fenris said so.

Cleaned and dressed, Fenris headed out of the cave. He found the lynx perched up in a high branch, his ears twitching in every direction, while keeping an ever watchful eye out for potential dangers. It was rare for him to stay this close to Fenris. Once the initial shock of the daily transformations had worn off, the lynx had relished in the freedom that his new form had given him. The last time Fenris remember the lynx had stayed this close was when Fenris had caught some sickness from a village he had visited. Too ill to travel in either form, they had been forced to stay until Fenris recovered.

It had been dangerous to linger as bounty hunters had dogged their step. It was then that Anders earned Fenris' admiration. Three days after Fenris had fallen ill, two hunters had tracked them to the vicinity of their camp, but they had failed to find Fenris due to the wicked traps they had sprung, traps that Anders had laid. Fenris wasn't even aware that Anders knew how to make traps, surely that was a result of Varric's tutelage. The traps had been crude when compare to Varric's finely tuned mechanisms, but they had acquired the same results, thus Fenris hadn't criticise. He wondered, briefly if Anders had laid anymore this time. However, he was not so injured or ill that they would need to remain here for that long.

Fenris knew Anders would desire to. This little cave offered the best amenities that they have had in a long time. Perhaps, it wouldn't be such a bad idea to stay a couple of days. After a good day's rest, Fenris would have regained his composure to scout the area more vigilantly.

The neigh of a horse startled Fenris out of his reverie. He could not help but stare at the black gelding that had been picketed nearby. Clearly Anders had been very industrious last night. With the horse they would be able to travel more easily and, Maker forbid, make a quicker escape should the need arise.

Fenris spent a lazy day at the camp; as lazy as his disposition had allowed him. He sharpened his sword, collected firewood, sorted out their newly acquired possession and repacked what they could take with them efficiently, in case they needed to leave in a hurry. He had also found a kettle of tea and a small pot in the fire pit. The tea smelled of elfroot and spindleweed; he screwed up his face in disgust but choked the foul concoction down regardless. He wouldn't put it past Anders to force it down his throat later that night if it hadn't been drunk. The pot contained a simple stew of beans and cured ham, lightly fragrance with herbs he could not identify. As Fenris ate his portion, he silently thanked their unnamed benefactor, or victim, for these generous provision. 

When dusk approached, Fenris noted that the lynx had vanished into the woods. He dug out the grey woollen cloak and laid it on a log by the fire to warm it. Then he began to strip out of his own clothes before leaving the camp. It was strange that they had never wanted to be together when their transformations took place. Even last night, Fenris knew Anders had not been in the cave when dawn had arrived. He had found Anders' trousers outside. Fenris had never seen Anders change, but Anders had witness his at least once. 

They had been together on the day the curse took them, and when the sun had set that day, Fenris changed first. In that moment of transition, Fenris recalled seeing the look of horror and fear in Anders' eyes. That would be the last time he would lay eyes upon Anders in his human form. With a howl of dismay, Fenris had fled into the woods, confused and blindly led by his feral instincts. As the sky began to lighten, instinct once again led him back to where the man thing had been. Fenris had resumed his true form on the way, and when he had arrived at the place where they had parted company, instead of Anders, he found a lynx somewhat tangled up in the other man's robes. Fenris gently freed the lynx, but not before sustaining a few scratches. The lynx had hissed at him before scaling a tree. Even if the lynx had been vicious Fenris was touched that Anders had actually waited the entire night for him, especially when he did not know if Fenris would actually return.

It had taken them several weeks to sort out themselves out. Even then it had been difficult. They knew they had to keep moving, but they couldn't be sure that whoever was in his animal form would follow. It was slow going, and they had too many close calls. Eventually, they had no choice but to seek help from a third party, someone they both trusted, someone who was likely to have the means to help them. They had journeyed to seek out Varric.

Varric had taken the news in his usual staunch and stoic manner. At least that's what Fenris had assumed. Varric and Anders had met up under the cover of twilight. When Fenris had returned to their rendezvous point, he found Varric sitting calmly on a log, tuning his crossbow.

"Quite the pickle, eh?" was the first thing Varric had said to Fenris.

They had spent several months with Varric. In that time, they had come to an agreement on their travel arrangements and contingency plans. Varric had always maintained that life was like running a business and he was a thorough and shrewd merchant – even his contingency plans had contingency plans. When they weren't poring over maps or scouring for hints of the curse breaker, they would indulge in more mundane activities like playing a game of Diamondback or sharing a good vintage of wine. In those moments, Fenris felt almost ... normal.

"I've got something for you," Varric had said one day then gestured a small chest sitting on the table.

Fenris had raised a curious brow but said nothing as he opened the chest. Inside he found a meticulously crafted set of armour. Even without touching it, he could feel the subtle pulse of magic imbued into its core.

"Varric..." He began but was interrupted.

"Nothing to it," Varric had said waving his hand dismissively. "What's the point of having piles of gold if I can't spend it to help a friend in need? I thought to have them enchanted as well, I know a fellow merchant dwarf whose son is quite a genius at it. Got a fair price for it too. Just thought a little protection and enhancements might be nice. Might help Blondie, too, since I eventually managed to strong arm him out of his robes and staff. Thought they would be rather conspicuous; especially the staff considering a lyrium-tattooed elf has to tote it around in the day."

Varric then pushed a long rectangular case across the table to Fenris. "Speaking of weapons, here's yours."

"I already have a weapon."

"No, you have a dead weight. It's large, unwieldy and ugly. Bianca doesn't approve of it."

Fenris couldn't help but smirk. "Oh, yes, I live to gain approval from your crossbow."

"Oh, you shoul; treat them well and they'll never fail you. In any case, the reputation of this swordsmith in northern Ferelden was unprecedented so I commissioned a sword for you. Virtually unbreakable, sharp and light."

"Light? Why light? There are reasons why two-handed swords are weighted."

"Because the next time you have to pick up and run in the night, Blondie isn't going get very far hefting your heifer of a sword along. Either that or he's liable to leave it behind. Trust me, this'll better. You'll get used to it before you know it."

Fenris had chosen not to argue; in addition to a silver tongue, Varric did have a point. Fenris' preternatural strength often made him forget that most people could barely lift up his sword much less swing it around like a child would his wooden counterpart. 

He opened the case. The sword was long, and the single edged blade, honed to the sharpness of a razor, was ever so lightly curved. A string of intricate runes adorned one side of the blade, no doubt more enchantments. The handle which made up almost half the length was made of bone, dragonbone perhaps, and ornately embellished. It was unlike any sword that Fenris had seen and while it would take some getting used to, it _was_ a magnificent weapon.

Varric's satisfied chuckle drew him back. "She'll be needing a name."

"I will do no such thing," Fenris retorted, closing the box with a snap. He would accustom himself to the weapon later. "Your obsession with your crossbow is unhealthy. Nevertheless, I am very grateful for your generosity and hospitality." He bowed.

"So serious," Varric clicked his tongue, "What, no hugs and kisses?"

Fenris made an impatient sound. "No doubt you'll be getting plenty of those when to present your gifts to the mage."

"Promises, promises!"

Soon after that, Fenris and Anders had left. They had lingered long enough, and they did not want to impose upon Varric any further, nor court any trouble for him. Varric had laden them with as much as Fenris could carry, still the most precious things that they had were quite literally the clothes on their back and Fenris' new sword, and that was quite enough for them.

They need not worry about food and water, both being able to hunt and find water easily in their animal forms. Anders had insisted on having some healing reagents and basic amenities. Varric had tried to get Fenris to take a pouch of gold but he had refused, accepting no more than a meagre handful after much bargaining. He should've know Varric wouldn't give up that easily, for the next few days, odd pieces of coin kept turning up in the crook and crannies of their rucksack. He had even found one tucked in between the plates of one of his gloves. Fenris had been overwhelmed with gratitude; this was one debt he could scarcely repay.

Thus he and Anders kept moving south, as far away from the Tevinter Empire as possible. They didn't really have a destination in mind but there wasn't anywhere they felt they could stay for a protracted length of time. Their curse would oust them in a matter of a day. Most people were already wary of mages, what would they do to one who was cursed? Additionally, Fenris had also heard of the sinister tales of werewolves, there was little doubt the people would think of him as one.

They had been running nigh on a year then, but they could not stop till they had found a way to break the curse. Fenris had initially been doubtful that Varric could relay any message to them but he has been proven wrong. Whenever Fenris had dared venture into the larger towns, he would often come across a dwarven merchant guild, and waiting for him there would be some cryptic message from Varric. Fenris had wondered, not for the first time, just how far Varric's influence went. 

It had been three months since they last visited a large town, Varric would no doubt have another message waiting for them. It would take several weeks to wend their way back to the more populated parts of the domain, thus Fenris decided that, after their little stay at the cave, they would head for the nearest town.


	4. Chapter 4

The dwarven merchant's guild representative was a stout and grouchy dwarf with a flamboyantly wild beard. Fenris had never seen such a spectacle on a face, he hadn't even realised that facial hair was capable of achieving such a feat. He tried not to stare, after all, it wasn't like he had never seen dwarves before, but this was something else.

The dwarf's expression had darken when Fenris had asked him if there was a message from Varric. Evidently he did not like Varric very much, muttering sourly as he rummaged through his piles and piles of parchment that filled his place of business.

Once he had located the message, he shoved it into Fenris' hand and promptly ushered the latter out of his room. Without so much another word, he slammed the door behind him. Fenris didn't even get the chance to thank the dwarf, although he surmised that his departure was thanks enough.

Fenris looked at the folded note in his hand, there were only a few lines of script on it. Clearly there was nothing of great importance for Varric to share. Fenris tucked the letter away safely; for now he would conclude his business in the town and worry about having it read later.

The town was a bustling merchant town. The merchants, local farmers and travellers of all denominations came and went as the tides would. The occasional Templar patrolled the street to ensure the best behaviour in most if not all. Fenris was rather surprise to see such a large presence of Templars given that there was no Circle of Magi in the vicinity. Nevertheless, they paid him no heed, more on the look out for pickpockets in the market square and bandits on the roads in and out of town.

Fenris had not lingered, swiftly purchasing the supplies he needed and then headed back out to the forest. He had just crossed over the treeline when he heard a commotion not far from him. Instantly, he was on guard as he moved closer carefully to investigate.

There was a young elven woman being confronted by two Templars. The Templars' swords were still sheathed but they had their hands on the hilts. Strapped upon the back of the elven woman was a staff.

 _Apostate,_ Fenris immediately thought. He turned to leave, not wanting to interfere with the Templars' work. It was not his fight and he certainly wasn't going to court unnecessary trouble.

"I don't think I understand," Fenris heard the elf say, "Are you calling me an apostate?"

"You really are stupid, aren't you? You'll be heading straight for Tranquility," a Templar snorted in derision, "Drop the staff or we'll be force to take it from you."

"You shemlen are so demanding," she replied, sounding rather calm, "I'm sorry but I can't drop the staff, the Keeper will be very put out with me if I lost it."

"You're Dalish," the other Templar exclaimed.

"It doesn't matter," the first Templar snarled. "She's still an apostate! Take her!" He drew his sword and advanced on the elf. She responded just as quickly, summoning the roots of the trees around her to snare the Templar. In that time, the second Templar had also drawn his sword. Instead of charging, he merely pointed it at the elf and in an instant she was struck by a blinding white light. She staggered and fell back, seemingly out of breath but physically unharmed. Fenris had seen and felt that kind of magic before – it was a Templar's main attack in their arsenal against mages, the Holy Smite.

Fenris, by no means felt any kind of kinship towards the Dalish, but he did not feel right in simply letting them take her, especially not when they had threatened her with Tranquility over a stupid, unjustified reason. Moreover, the Dalish should not be made to succumb to the human Chantry laws, just as the Chantry would not submit to the Tevinter magocracy.

Shucking off his rucksack, he surged forward to stand between the elf and the Templars.

"Leave," he warned, his lyrium brands flickering menacingly. "You have no authority over the Dalish."

"Another one!" the first Templar, who had freed himself, shouted, then swung his sword at Fenris.

"Imbecile," Fenris scoffed, blocking the attack. He forced the Templar back, then with deadly precision slipped his blade into one of the few weak points in the Templar armour. The Templar gasped in surprise, gurgled and then toppled over when Fenris withdrew his sword. The second Templar cried out in anger as he moved to attack, but was suddenly besieged by bright filaments of lightning arcing around him. He stopped in his tracks, twitched comically before falling to the ground, smoking like a haunch of roasted meat.

Fenris turned to look at the elf and she visibly sagged. "Oh, my, I guess that's all I've got for now," she said. "Thank you. I've not seen you before, which clan are you from?"

"I'm not Dalish."

"Oh? Oh, I see now, your vallasin is strange, not one I've seen before. Who does it honour?"

Fenris looked blankly at her. "I don't know what you mean, but you should leave this area. I'm sure other Templars will come in search of them." Fenris searched the Templar bodies briefly and found little he could use, almost all their valuables were branded with the Chantry sigil.

As he returned for his rucksack he realised that the elf had followed him.

"Was there something you need?" he asked.

"Maybe, I don't supposed you know where my friends are?"

Fenris looked at her incredulously. "You're lost?" he exclaimed.

She smiled sheepishly at him. "Well, not really, actually, sort of."

"Aren't the Dalish famous for their unparalleled skills in tracking?" 

"Oh, yes, the hunters are. But I'm not a hunter. I followed my friends out. The Keeper wanted me to collect some herbs and reagents, I guess I wandered away from them, or they from me. They were tracking a deer, so I guess they didn't realised when I had to stop to pick up some deep mushroom. They're rather rare in these parts, they usually just grow in the Deep Roads. I guess that's why they call them deep mushroom. But if you're lucky you can find them –"

"Stop, please," Fenris interrupted firmly, resisting the urge to lower his head into his hands. "Let's get away from here then we'll figure out how to find your friends. It's clear you should not be out alone and unsupervised. First, we are going to meet up with my friend."

"Sure." The elf nodded, falling in step behind Fenris. "I'm Merrill."

"Fenris."

"You must be a city elf then, where do you live?"

"I don't live anywhere."

"Oh? So you just move around, like us, but you don't have a clan? It must be lonely. But you said we were going to meet your friend? I guess that's not too lonely."

Fenris sighed. Not for the first time, he questioned the wisdom of intervening in that little altercation. He would be the first to admit that he had not quite let go of his prolonged bias towards mages, hence he was at a loss as to why he had stuck his neck out to save one. He could only come up with one reason, which was Anders' bad influence upon him. When he had intended to leave Merrill to face the Templar on her own, he could've sworn he heard the disappointed click of Anders' tongue, and the guilt-inducing chastisement that was sure to follow. 

Fenris growled silently in his mind, grousing that mages would surely be the end of him.

Merrill did not stop chattering, sometimes she wasn't even talking to Fenris, but to the trees and the flowers and the rocks. That kind of behaviour, coupled with their hunters' penchant to seek out game of the _shemlen_ variety, was likely why outsiders thought the Dalish were aberrant and barbaric.

Fenris found their horse easily, who greeted him with a harumph, but the lynx was nowhere to be seen. He re-saddled the gelding and secured the bags on it. Merrill began communing with the gelding, both of them seemed rather amused by it. Just before they left, Fenris whistled once and then led them east further into the forest.

"I've not seen one this close," Merrill babbled, "We don't use horses, of course, I never thought they were this huge. Are they always this big? Of course they'll have to be, the shemlen are big, some twice as much as us, but I've never seen one. That's what Pol said, he used to live in a city. Highever, or was it Denerim? I always get them mixed up. Ran away to join us, he did. I'm sure he has seen all sorts of shemlen. Have you seen them?"

It was a moment before Fenris realised Merrill had asked him something, but before he could answer, Merrill gasped. Fenris' hand was on his sword in an instance.

"I've never seen one of those before! It's beautiful." She squealed with delight and pointed up at a tree.

Fenris looked up and saw the lynx looking down at them curiously, perhaps even amusedly. The lynx mewled and that sent Merrill pealing with laughter. Fenris wondered if it was too late to fall on his own sword. 

"Merrill, where did you last see your friends?" Fenris asked to stop himself from doing something he would regret.

"Hmm, what?" she said distractedly, watching the lynx slowly descend from the tree.

"Your friends," he repeated.

"Oh, deeper than here, for sure," she replies, eyes still firmly fixed on the lynx. "Further east, maybe a little north. I don't remember seeing any landmarks, probably why I got lost."

"We haven't got time for this," Fenris said tersely. "The Templars will give chase. Concentrate!" In addition to that, sunset was but a couple of hours away.

Merrill jumped slightly and for a fearful moment, Fenris though she was going to cry. Thankfully, she squared her shoulders and set her jaw and began to look at the surroundings in earnest, still muttering to herself. Not long after she pointed in one direction and said "This way, maybe."

Fenris followed, even if he was somewhat dubious about Merrill's certainty. Notwithstanding, he had just met her, he should be giving her the benefit of the doubt. They wandered for a little bit, with Merrill making the effort to find her way back to where she had separated from her friends, but the longer it went, the clearer it became Merrill was not equipped to track. Fenris called her to a halt. Sunset could scarcely be an hour away.

"The best thing you can do is stay put in a safe place. Your friends are hunters, they will find you eventually. I would advice you to hide if you saw any Templars." Fenris wasn't completely comfortable leaving her but it would be safer than having her present at his transformation. He wouldn't put it past her to try and cuddle Fenris' wolf form because she hadn't seen one this close before. 

Then suddenly the lynx leapt out of one of the branches to land atop Merrill. She screeched, both tumbled to the ground, just as a bolt was embedded into a nearby tree with a loud thunk.

"Templars!" Fenris snarled, drew his sword and rush to confront them. Only two had stepped up to met him, but he was sure there were more. These Templars were no common bandits; they were discipline, professional soldiers who were fuelled by righteous duty, and they were probably looking for revenge, too. It had been some time now that Fenris felt a little hard pressed in a battle. Even so, he felt exhilarated and did not pull any of his punches. When the first Templar fell, he felt exultant, but swiftly drew his attention back to the other Templar. 

A strangled cry from above surprised both he and the Templar. The cry was swiftly followed by a third Templar falling out of a tree. The sniper, Fenris concluded. Then a fourth one landed with another loud thump. While the last remaining Templar was momentarily distracted by his fallen comrades, Fenris took the opportunity to make the killing blow.

Curious, Fenris approached one of the fallen Templars to find some fletching had sprouted out of his left eye. It took great skill to hit such a small target in such poor light, especially since the Templar had a helm on. It had to be a Dalish hunter, and hopefully a friend of Merrill's.

Fenris detected the barest hint of movements and decided he should say something before he, too, caught an arrow in the eye.

"Are you Merrill's friend?" he asked.

"What do you know of Merrill?" a female voice demanded.

"She's back there," Fenris pointed, "I was helping her look for her friends."

The elf stepped out into sight, and an arrow was nocked in her bow even if she did not have it tensed. Twin blades were sheathed at her hips and she looked rather fearsome with her facial tattoos, dark scowl, and penetrating glare. "Where?"

As Fenris led her back to Merrill, he thanked her for her help. The elf merely grunted in acknowledgement. Fenris had heard all manner of stories about how the Dalish despised humans and barely had any regard for non-Dalish elves. Her demeanour spoke volumes of her contempt. Perhaps Fenris was spared because she, too, thought he was from another Dalish clan, like Merrill had.

"Merrill!"" the elf cried, pushed past Fenris and growled, "If you have caused her harm, I swear to the Creators I will make you pay!"

Fenris wondered what had provoked that threat then he saw Merrill covered in blood and tears. Guilt suddenly gripped him; had he left her vulnerable when he had rushed off to confront the Templars? He knew her mana had been drained earlier, had she recovered sufficiently to defend herself?

Merrill looked up when she heard them approach. "Mahariel!" she cried. "I'm not hurt, it's this poor thing," she looked down to something sitting in her lap. Something with golden and white fur, a patch stained almost black in blood. 

A strangled cry of despair erupted from Fenris as he all but threw himself on to the ground. For the first time in his life, he had felt fear like he had never before. He could hardly breathe, nausea threatened to overwhelm him, and his heart had surely stopped. Words of denial spilled futilely from his lips, his hand halfway out to touch the lynx but too afraid to do so.

"It saved me," Merrill said quietly, her voice laden with regret and gratitude. "When it pushed me down, the bolt hit it instead." 

"Don't let it suffer any further, lethallan; end it," Mahariel said kindly.

"No!" Fenris roared, making both women jump. He then demanded, "Heal him! Why haven't you used magic to heal him?"

"I, I tried, I stopped the bleeding but I don't have that kind of magic," Merrill stuttered, "Maybe the Keeper –"

"Merrill," Mahariel interrupted, her voice clearly disapproving.

"They saved my life, twice. I owe it to them to try," Merrill replied resolutely.

"Save him and your debt will be repaid. I swear to the Maker, it would be I who will be in your debt," Fenris pleaded.

Mahariel sighed in resignation, then knelt down to examine the lynx gently. "It is gravely wounded, I do not know if we could reach the Keeper in time."

"Then take the horse!" Fenris cried, "Please!"

"Give me your cloak," Mahariel ordered and Fenris quickly complied. She then gently but securely wrapped the lynx up and then told Merrill to get on the horse. After handing the lynx up to Merrill, she swung up behind her friend. Fenris then handed her the reins.

"How will you find us?" Merrill asked.

"I will find a way. Please hurry."

With that the Dalish galloped away and vanish into the forest.


	5. Chapter 5

Anders woke in a haze of pain and disorientation. His eyes fluttered open and he caught sight, albeit blurry, of silver hair and elven ears and for a moment his heart soared. Had the curse been broken or had he simply dreamed it all? When the elf turned, it was revealed that the hair and ears belonged to an older, rather distinguished looking elven woman – Dalish, if Anders were to go by her facial tattoos. Anders couldn't but help feel disappointment; even if he had known it was too much to hope for the curse to break so easily.

The disappointment was swiftly followed by a stab of concern. Did she happen to stumble across him injured in the forest or had Fenris entrusted him into her care? Was Fenris alright? While Anders had not expect him to present anyway, he couldn't help but worry about the wolf's absence.

"Be still and let me finish," the woman said, holding him down gently. Anders felt the cleansing flow of healing magic course through him. It was familiar, having evoked it countless of times himself yet it was subtly different. The pain receded and Anders felt he could think a little more clearly.

A second elven woman, this time a younger one, approached him, helped him sit up before pressing a cup to his lips. He was ready to protest but as a healer he had forced all manner of foul concoctions into his own patients. Thus, he obediently drained the cup as quickly as he could. 

"To whom do I owe my gratitude?" Anders asked.

"I am Keeper Marethari," the older woman introduced herself, then nodded at the other elf, "That is Merrill and Mahariel." She gestured, finally, to a third elf, who was looking rather scowly and distrustful, standing behind Anders.

"You owe us nothing, both our debts have been repaid," Merrill replied. "Do you not remember what happened?"

Anders, of course, could not recall anything in specific details, only the emotions he felt at the time of any given events. He didn't know how to explain, although he could guess that they had very likely witness his transformation.

Before he could answer, an urgent knock resounded upon the door. Mahariel moved to open it and another elf burst in. 

"Keeper!" He said, "Something is out there in the woods, the scouts have seen its movements and the halla are spooked. The hunters are preparing to leave."

"No!" Anders exclaimed, knowing exactly what that something was.

"You dare, shem?" the elf growled at him. "We have the right to protect what is ours!"

"No, please, he means you no harm, I promise!"

"Why should we –"

"Tamlen," the Keeper interrupted and the elf fell silent immediately. "You know what is out there?" She asked Anders instead.

"Yes. Please, let me go to him. He's just worried about me. He is not here to hunt your halla."

The Keeper was silent in a moment of contemplation. "Tamlen, tell the others to stay and protect the camp, prepare to defend, but you are not to kill. Nor are you to hunt."

Tamlen looked like he was ready to protest but a slight shake of Mahariel's head stayed his tongue. He acquiesced and promptly left. Mahariel moved to follow but the Keeper stopped her.

"Mahariel and Merrill will accompany you," she said. Anders could hear in her tone of voice that it was not a request and thought better to protest. He quickly thanked her and headed for the door.

"Shem!" Mahariel called, when Anders turned to look at her, she threw something at him which landed around his face. It was a pair of trousers. "Perhaps you'd like to get dressed first?"

Merrill had gone a bright shade of pink.

~*~

"He won't show himself if you're here," Anders said. They had been searching for a while now. Mahariel had seen the wolf tracks and had been following them but Fenris had refused to reveal himself. Mahariel even voiced that it was a highly unusual trait. It also seemed to Anders that she was feeling rather unnerved by the possibility that a wolf was tracking her instead.

"It's him, isn't it?" Merrill said, it was more than a statement than a question. "It's Fenris."

"Who?" Mahariel asked. "The silver haired elf you were with? It's an animal out there."

"Yes, I know. But you saw what happened, too, when, when, er," Merrill paused, looking expectantly at Anders. 

"Anders, my name is Anders," Anders helpfully supplied.

"When Anders changed, who's to say Fenris didn't either?" Merrill finished then said, "Nice to meet you, Anders. I'm right, aren't I?"

"Yes, you're right. Please can you just stay here or hide or something?"

Mahariel pinned him an irritated look. "Remember, shem, we'll be in bow shot at all times."

Anders nodded and carried on his search for Fenris. Sure enough, when Anders had lost sight of the two elves, he spied a dark shape emerging slowly from the shadows. Anders was still careful about approaching, for all he knew it could've been a different predator. As he drew closer, Anders recognised the wolf and his very distinctive markings. Anders sat down on the dirt and waited for the wolf to approach. The wolf whined as he tentatively nuzzled Anders' outstretched hand.

"I'm alright," Anders said quietly. "Thanks to your new friends."

The wolf answered him with a short yip. 

"Listen, be good and don't eat their halla. We don't want to anger our benefactors. In fact, stay away from the camp, I will come out for you at daybreak."

The wolf, uncharacteristically, gave Anders' hand a playful lick before trotting away. Anders watched him vanished into the night. 

"That was quite remarkable," Mahariel had seemingly appeared out of in air. She had been true to her words about being close.

"Will he be alright?" Merrill asked.

Anders was quite surprised that neither one of them seemed perturbed by their transformations. "He will be fine. I asked him to stay away from your camp."

Mahariel nodded. "We heard; but will he listen?"

"He's still a wild wolf, not a trained mabari. But he is more intelligent than the average wolf."

"So I've noticed." She slung her bow back over her shoulder. "Come, the Keeper will want a word with you, shem."

Anders was about to remind her he had a name but decided to be on his best behaviour seeing how they had saved his life and all. Nodding obediently, Anders followed her back to the Dalish camp without a peep.

~*~

After they returned to the camp, the Keeper had kindly had food prepared for him. Anders felt rather self-conscious with three women watching him eat. He hurriedly finished his meal, a heartily scrumptious and filling one at that, and waited for the inevitable interrogation. Merrill had already told him about meeting Fenris and the altercations with the Templars.

For a few minutes, the Keeper merely looked at him, and Anders felt she could look right into his soul. 

"Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf, could walk among the gods and the Forgotten Ones, but mostly he walked among elvhen as if he were one of them," Marethari began, "Great was his skill in trickery and subterfuge. He could change his form at will. The gods and the Forgotten Ones could see his true self, and hence, he was never able to maintain his disguise in their presence, but the elvhen always saw him as he intended – as one of their own, a fearsome predator or even a harmless sparrow.

"No one ever knew his purpose, but in time he had imparted some of the secrets of shapeshifting to a chosen few. Even through the ages, this knowledge was jealously guarded, passing from father to son, mother to daughter, and fewer still mastered the skill. And those who did could only ever take an animal form, never another person. That, Fen'Harel kept for himself, wandering still among the elvhen and now the shemlen, perhaps even the duergen'len, his true purpose never to be known."

Anders remained silent after the Keeper finished her tale, he wasn't sure what exactly was she trying to say, except maybe to tell him the Dalish were prejudice against wolves. It made Anders nervous.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but I don't understand what it is you're telling me," Anders spoke up.

"There is another legend," Marethari continued, "When the presence of the Dread Wolf was still strong among us, before Arlathan fell, two lovers defied their families to be with each other; he was elvhen, and she, shemlen. 

"She was arranged to be married to a powerful Magister. The Magister's fury was boundless, and he cried for vengeance. Never one to miss an opportunity for mischief, the Dread Wolf answered the Magister's call. He taught the Magister a cruel curse, a curse to punish the lovers. By day she would be a hawk, by night he, a wolf; their lives though bound by the curse, could never be shared – always together, eternally apart."

"Wait, what? Fenris and I aren't lovers," _not exactly,_ he added silently to himself, "And we weren't cursed by a jilted groom!" _It was a sadistic madman with delusions of grandeur. Wait... does that mean I'm the 'girl?'_

"That is but how the legend goes. Nevertheless, you cannot deny the parallels to your current predicament."

"Alright, that part is true. So how did they break the curse?"

"There are many ends to that legend. Some say true love had set them free, others mourn that they died without ever reuniting, and there were even tales that the shemlen girl, a mage herself, learned the secret of shapeshifting, and thus broke the curse."

Anders resisted the urge to sigh. "Brilliant, find true love, get used to it, or learn how to shapeshift. Is there by any chance there's a fourth option?"

"Alas, I do not have the answers you seek. Rest now, daylight approaches." When Marethari rose, so did the younger women.

"No, wait I need to be out in the woods."

"Scarcely half a day ago you were almost called to Falon'Din, you need your rest. Merrill and Mahariel shall see to your friend."


	6. Chapter 6

All eyes were on Fenris as he followed Merrill and Mahariel through their camp. Merrill had reassured him that Anders was fine, and then promptly recounted the events of the night to him. This time Fenris was quite happy to hear what Merrill had to say. She ushered him into an elven landship, where he found the lynx asleep in a nest of blankets. Merrill left to fetch him some food whilst Mahariel stayed to watch him with scrutiny.

"There is no need to glare at me like that. I have no intentions of causing you or yours any harm," Fenris said after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. "Quite the contrary, after what you did for him."

"We pay our debts," Mahariel replied shortly.

"As do we. Once the lynx has awakened, we shall be leaving."

"You cannot, not yet; the Keeper wishes to speak to the shem again."

"For what?"

"The Keeper does not confide in me. My instructions were to see to your needs while you remain."

"That is not necessary. I have no needs."

Mahariel shrugged indifferently. Fortunately, Merrill returned shortly with a large bowl of stew, several pieces of bread and some fresh fruits that Fenis had never seen before. Fenris was rather touched to be so well taken care of by strangers. Merrill resumed her soliloquy, and Fenris found that he didn't mind it at all. It was better than the stony silence that Mahariel was giving him.

Once he has finished eating, Merrill rose and ushered Mahariel out. "We'll let you rest. Don't worry, you'll be safe here." Merrill then lowered her voice, "Oh, and don't mind Mahariel, she's not a bad person but she does have a reason to mistrust shemlen and city elves." With that, Merrill left and shut the door behind her.

Fenris felt out of sorts. His natural instinct was to pick the lynx up and run. Moreover, this was the first time such a large group of people had discovered their curse and had not attempted to string them up and burn them. Despite the Dalish's inherent mistrust of outsiders, they seemed more open-minded about magic and the bizarre. After listening to Merrill's story, it did give Fenris a glimmer of hope that they could help with breaking the curse, if not, give them greater insights to how to achieve that goal. Fenris then settled down to rest, with the hope that the Keeper had more to tell Anders about their curse.

~*~

It was pleasant, having a personal heat-generating, furry pillow that purred on occasion. Fenris had awoken sometime ago to find the lynx had crawled into bed with him. Since then he had been dozing, quietly enjoy the lynx's company.

As he dozed, emotions and memories of yesterday's events played through his mind. Looking back, Fenris was shocked to have experienced such depths to his feeling for Anders. Common ground first brought them together, well-nigh kicking and screaming. Slowly, they began developing a grudging tolerance for each other. Eventually, they had quietly admitted, through their actions, that they had enjoyed the tentative friendship and concern that had developed. It was soon after that they had been inflicted with the curse and thus, began their unending journey through the lands. Over the years that they had been together, despite not ever seeing each other's true form, Fenris' interest and affection for Anders had evidently grown. He had not truly realised it until then that it would devastate him if anything untoward were to happen to Anders.

The realisation brought both fear and exhilaration to Fenris. He had never thought he could ever come to care this much about anyone. The idea of spending the rest of his days with Anders was pleasing. But... but what if Anders did not return his feelings? What if, once this curse was undone, Anders would want to go his separate way? Fenris knew very well that they had initially stayed together because they were compelled by the magic. There was never any understanding that they would remain together after the curse. Moreover, Fenris was a fugitive, an escaped slave, it was likely that he would be doomed to run for the rest of his life.

No, it was foolish of him to expect anything more. He pulled the lynx into a close embrace and allowed himself another moment of indulgence before sweeping all thoughts of happily ever after away. 

~*~

When Fenris had returned to the Dalish camp the next morning, he found their horse being prepared to leave. He assumed that he and Anders had exhausted their welcome.

"Ready to go?" Merrill asked, "Or would you like to rest a bit before we leave? Something to eat maybe?"

Fenris was confused. He looked around and was even more confused when he saw Mahariel approaching, a satchel slung over one shoulder, her bow and quiver over the other, and her twin blades sheathed at her hips. She did not look particularly pleased. Fenris then scrutinised Merrill and found her to be travel-ready as well.

"Where exactly are we're all going?" Fenris asked.

"To find some answers on how to break your curse," Merrill replied. "I will tell you on our way, unless you want to stay till you've heard the story?"

"Tell him on the way," Mahariel instructed. "We have far to go, let's not waste any daylight. Where has the shem gone?" She asked, looking around.

"Don't worry, he will follow," Fenris said confidently.

Mahariel nodded curtly and headed out, Merrill and Fenris following summarily.

"Oh, right," Merrill said when Fenris prompted her for the reason of their journey. Fenris was mostly curious why the women had joined them. "The Keeper thought that someone with the knowledge of shapeshifting might be more suited to solving this. We have lost much of our past, while some clans still retain knowledge of shapeshifting, many tend to shun it. Any gift from the Dread Wolf is considered ill-gotten."

"So we are looking for another Dalish clan?"

"Not exactly, but I will certain enquire of their Keeper should we come across another. We are looking for a shapeshifter."

"Where is this shapeshifter?"

"No one knows exactly, there are always rumours and clues, and some just happen to stumble upon the location. It is said to be enchanted to be hidden, that it even moves from place to place, but we, Dalish, have a long understanding with this mage. Mahariel will be able to find the place, even if it might take awhile."

"I heard that," Mahariel said, "Have you no faith in my skills, lethallan?"

Merrill and Mahariel continued their conversation, leaving Fenris to his thoughts. Dare he hope a little more? In part, he would welcome the breaking of this curse, but it also meant that he would face a future on his own. In spite of his own insecurities, Fenris would not deny Anders' his freedom. It was no life to be half-man, half-beast. They both needed to be free. If nothing else, then he could at least see Anders once again with his own elven eyes before they went their separate ways.

When sunset approached Fenris called them to a halt. This time they had no need to find suitable shelter for the Dalish came prepared – they had packed tents and, with practised ease, had them swiftly erected.

Fenris didn't know what to think when Merrill had helped him remove his armour without being asked. Apart from Varric, he had not spend this much time in anybody's company since the curse. It was not unpleasant, just strange. 

"Will Anders be able to find us?" Merrill asked as Fenris turned to leave the camp.

"He's not far, I can hear him out there," Mahariel replied in his stead. "But he _will_ be stark naked when he returns. As pleasant as his form is, I'm not sure Merrill can handle another look."

"Mahariel!" Merril exclaimed, cheeks reddening. 

Fenris bristled at the idea of the two women seeing, and appreciating, Anders' nude body. "That is what this cloak is for," he ground out the words, "I will leave this around the corner for him, you won't be seeing his naked body again."

"Is that a promise or a threat?" Mahariel asked with an infuriating smirk. Until then, Fenris hadn't even realised she was capable of smirking.

As much as Fenris wanted to stay and bicker with her, he was running out of time. He gave her a murderous glare as he left, and wondered just how upset Anders would be if he chewed up her leg; just a bit, not too much. It would be a simple thing to heal, after all.


	7. Chapter 7

To say that Anders was really enjoying the company of his two new companions was an understatement. He had come to know the two elves better in the last weeks. Merrill was a curious and easily-impressed creature. She was also quite a talented mage and they had spent many hours discussing magic, much to Mahariel's chagrin. The moment either of them said the M-word, Mahariel would retire to bed, not even bothering with an excuse. It bored her, Merrill had explained, and it was was somewhat a sore point for her, too. Merrill did not elaborate and Anders didn't feel like he knew the other elf well enough to pry.

Even the icy Dalish hunter eventually warmed up to Anders. The ice had broken one evening when Anders had inadvertently displayed his caustic wit. He had been on his best behaviour for a while and he was fit to burst. For a moment then, Anders thought she was going to gut him. Instead, she smirked and replied in kind. From then they were quite content to show their mutual respect through sarcastic retorts and inappropriate innuendos.

At every sunset, Merrill was happy to recount any interesting events of the day to Anders, and pass on any messages from Fenris, which had been rare. Anders had also neglected to write anymore notes seeing Merrill was content to play messenger. While Anders was grateful for companionship, he couldn't help but miss Fenris, and partly wished they were on their own again. The presence of the wolf around the camp had been scarce, too. It was almost like Fenris wasn't even there anymore.

"You look sad," Merrill sat down beside him early one evening. "Do you miss him?"

For someone who seemed so aloof to the world, Merrill could be rather astute at times. Anders didn't answer, he merely continued to poke at the fire somewhat morosely.

"Tell me how you met. I love a good story."

Anders smiled. "I don't know if I'd call that story good."

"Tell me anyway, and I'll decide. Also I think Mahariel will cut us if we talk about you-know-what again."

"You may be right," Anders chuckled. "Alright, then."

~*~

_Years ago  
Qarinus  
Tevinter Empire_

When Anders first laid eyes on the prone body on the cold marble slab, he was both aghast and awestruck at the same time. As a mage, Anders knew very well the dangers of lyrium. Even the dwarven miners, who were supposedly immune to the ore, suffered from prolonged exposure. In its pure form, lyrium was deadly to all others, and yet, there lay an elf, whose body had been branded from head to toe with the deadly substance. Anders' eyes were inevitably drawn to the brands – graceful, elegant tendrils of white curled around the elf's natural musculature, accenting his beautiful form, and contrasting starkly with his dark skin.

Even if the elf was on the brink of death, how could he have survived in the first place?

Someone shoved Anders forward and snapped at him to do his job. Anders hurriedly obeyed and he did not stop until his mana had been thoroughly depleted. The elf was by no means out of the woods, but at least he was stable for the moment. 

An unctuous Magister then glided forward and gestured to a slave, who hurried over and handed Anders a vial of lyrium potion.

"You have talent, healer," the Magister said. "I shall be willing to take on your contract."

Anders nodded, not that he had any choice in the matter.

"Good. Your first duty is to nurse him back to health. The better you fulfil your duty, the more rewards you will receive. I may seem a harsh master, but I treat my apprentices well, provided they earn their place. Obedience will get you far, healer."

Again, Anders nodded mutely. The magister then whisked away. Anders, hadn't even been told the name of whom he now indentured to. 

_Another fine mess you've gotten yourself into, genius,_ Anders lamented. _Go to Tevinter, they said; you'll find your freedom there, they said. And I was stupid enough to listen._

Some months ago, and not for the first time, Anders had fled the Circle. That time, he did his best to make it count. He was sure that the Templars wouldn't tolerate any more of his shenanigans. That time he would go where they couldn't touch him – the Tevinter Imperium. After he had bartered his way across the Waking Sea and onto a Raider ship in Kirkwall that was bound for the Imperium, he naively thought he had made it to freedom.

Several weeks after he arrived, Anders had finally learned the truth about Tevinter – that being a mage there promised you nothing more than being a mage anywhere else did. Sure, any mage could freely display their gifts on the streets without worrying about Templars clapping them in chains, but the vaunted tales of the mage power were nothing more than an exaggeration. The power all lay within the tight-fisted grasps of the crème-de-la-crème of high society – the Magisters, and precious few mages got to become Magisters.

Anders could eek out a meagre existence doing any job that came his way, or he could indenture himself to a Magister for a chance of a more comfortable life. Anders realised then how spoilt he had been whilst in the Circle. He was never want for food or shelter there, and after months on the run, Anders realised he really liked his food and shelter. He also liked the other things that came with the shelter, like warmth, bed, bath, et cetera, et cetera. Those things would come more readily if he were in the servitude of a Magister. Anders admitted to himself he was indeed a spoilt little brat and he wanted the little luxuries in life.

It had taken another month or so before the so-called representative found an interested Magister. The Magister was looking for a healer and Anders was promptly escorted to a sprawling mansion at the middle of the city.

~*~

"That's when I saw Fenris for the first time, barely breathing, fighting hard to survive the gruesome ritual of having lyrium being branded into his skin."

Merrill looked at Anders with starry eyes and he was beginning to feel a little self-conscious, which in itself was quite a remarkable thing.

"Was it love at first sight?" she asked.

"What? No! There is no love here, you're confusing us with your legends. We weren't even friends."

Despite his denials, she still had a goofy smile on her face. "Then tell us how you became friends."

~*~

Being the lowest mage on the totem pole, it was to be expected that the others would target him. Fortunately for Anders, he had unique qualities that helped him to avoid as many of those situations as possible. First of all, he was possibly the only proficient healer a square mile radius. Magisters were all about the offensive, naturally their apprentices would follow in their footsteps. Secondly, Anders did not hold himself above the non-magical people. And finally, Anders was _charming_.

The combination of those three swiftly made him a favourite among the servants, guards and slaves. He would offer his healing skills without asking for anything in return; of course, his patients inadvertently repay him with an extra portion of food, extra hands to help him complete his duties, even protection from those who were loyal to the other apprentices.

Danarius, Anders' new _jailor,_ for indeed that was how Anders will ever see it, had as many as five apprentices, including Anders. Although he was labelled an apprentice, Danarius had yet to teach him anything but Anders was actually grateful for that. He was there merely to serve his time as inconspicuous as possible. One thing he did strive to do was not to be Danarius' least favourite at any time. As long he wasn't in any disfavour, Anders could go to sleep in peace.

The other apprentice looked down upon him for his obvious lack of ambition. They were constantly striking at each other like a nest of vipers. Hadriana was the vicious of them all, it was no wonder she was the favourite, and she would do anything to keep her position. While the other three were busy trying to unseat her, Anders could quite easily go behind their backs to ensure he wasn't last. They were so blinded by being first, they never stop to consider that _that useless healer_ was secretly making one of them last at any given moment.

One evening while trying to subtly bribe a guard to do his dirty work for him, a commotion in the forecourt drew their attention. Another guard hurried up to them said that the Master was due to arrive soon. Immediately, everyone scrambled. Danarius had been gone for several weeks, and had apparently decide to return on short notice. Things had been a little more relaxed than usual, seeing Hadriana had gone with Danarius, and the other three apprentices did not have anywhere near the commanding presence as either them. As for Anders, well, he would be the first to lead the charge in indolence; but now that the master of the house was but an hour away, everyone was furiously preparing the mansion for his return.

The apprentices, guards and the head servants were all lined up in the forecourt when the carriage drove in. Anders schooled his expression to one of neutrality, while noticing the other apprentices had looks of blind adoration instead. He groaned inwardly.

The carriage door open and out jumped an elf – an elf branded with lyrium. Anders stared, both surprised and happy that the elf was well again. Anders had spent his first five months in Danarius' service providing constant healing for the elf. Every time Anders thought the elf was on the road to recovery, he would suddenly take a turn for the worse, but Anders had always managed to pull him back from the brink. Whenever Danarius came to check up on them, Anders was sure the Magister would punish him for not making the elf well already, but the Magister seemed pleased that the elf was alive at all.

One day, Danarius came, removed the elf from Anders' care and gave Anders a new set of duties and instructions. Anders had not known the fate of the elf till then. 

Danarius and Hadriana, both of whom barely acknowledged the parade of people there to greet them, were busy talking to one another. The other apprentices quickly shuffled after them, each trying to weasel his or her way into the conversation. Anders wanted to go back to his own scheming but decided he had better join in the mindless fawning, just for show.

He fell in step beside the elf, who stoically kept his gaze forward. 

"What's your name?" Anders asked.

"Fenris," he replied shortly.

"I'm Anders, how have you been?"

At that question, Fenris looked wary. He did not reply, merely cast furtive, unsure glances at Anders.

"Ah, healer!" Danarius approached and, shockingly, clapped Anders on the back. "Isn't he a wonder? You did well keeping him alive, now look, he's a magnificent specimen to bear. You will continue looking after him. His health is your first duty. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Magister," Anders replied, he hadn't been able to bring himself to say _"master."_ He doubted he ever will.

Danarius then clutched Fenris' chin and leered at him. "I have big plans for you, my pet. Resume your training until further instructions."

"Yes, Master." Fenris bowed deeply then left.

"The rest of you, go about your business." Danarius waved his had dismissively. Anders didn't need to be told twice.

Late one night, a guard pounded at Anders door and told him he had been summoned. Anders did not tarry, pulled on a robe and followed the guard to the slave pens. In one of the cells Anders found Fenris lying on the floor broken and bleeding and immediately began his healing. Once he was done, he turned to the guard and asked what had happened.

The guard shrugged. "They brought him back like this. The Magister was in a bad mood, too, but at least he said to call for you."

Anders thanked the guard then went in search for some water and cloth to clean Fenris up. The other slaves offered to help but Anders declined; after all, Danarius had specifically said he was to care for Fenris' well being.

When he returned, Fenris was sitting up. Fenris made no acknowledgement of Anders' presence until the latter had cast a spell to warm the water up. Fenris then gave Anders a resentful scowl but said nothing. Anders was a little unnerved by how Fenris merely sat there like a doll when Anders began cleaning the blood off him.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, Anders asked, "Does it still hurt anywhere?"

"No, master," Fenris replied in a flat tone of voice.

Anders would never get used to being addressed as such, but he had not yet convince any slave in the estate to call him something else. They probably worry that he was testing them or something.

"That's good, get some rest. I'll check on you in the morning," Anders replied.

When morning came Anders had found Fenris training already. He would've preferred that the elf had rested some more but decided against countermanding Danarius' standing order. Anders was soon summoned to Danarius who wanted to know how _his pet elf_ was doing. Fortunately, Anders had good news. 

A couple of weeks later, Anders was summoned again to heal Fenris. While he was quite bloody, he was, at least conscious. What in the Maker's name was going on?

On the third night that Anders was summoned, he asked Fenris, "Why are you getting hurt so often?"

"I am merely performing my duty."

As far as Anders knew, Fenris served as Danarius' personal bodyguard. However, he doubted Fenris was getting hurt performing that particular duty. If Danarius had had his life threatened this much, martial law would've been declared. Thus, Anders asked, "Which is?"

Fenris did not answer. Had Danarius forbidden him to speak of it? It's likely. Or maybe Fenris just didn't like Anders sticking his nose in Fenris' affairs. Anders had to find out. It was not good for Fenris to get beaten up so often; and it was not good for Anders either if the elf's health began to fail.

Anders had decided to use the onus of duty to coax an answer out of Danarius since the Magister was always harping on about it. Perhaps it was Anders' natural charm or Danarius considered his answer a kind of reward, he was rather forthcoming.

Gladiatorial games had been and still were a staple of the Tevinter culture through ages. It kept the masses entertained and in favour of the Archon, and it also served as one of the many playgrounds for Magisters to exercise their power and show off to each other. The games consisted of two categories – the physical games, where the "normal" slaves and gladiators battled for their lives and the magical ones where mage-born slaves, and sometimes even apprentices who have fallen foul of their masters, proved their worth by being the last one standing.

Without ever having been to a game, Anders already knew they were brutal. He had heard stories, and seen the aftermath, just once, and that was enough. What Anders hadn't known, however, was that there was a third category. A category reserved only for the decadent underworld of the rich and depraved. In this category, there were no rules, no boundaries and no mercy. The gladiators weren't even strictly confined to that of human, elves, dwarves or kossith. 

And it was in this category that Danarius had had Fenris fighting in for the past few weeks.

As a lyrium-enhanced warrior, Fenris would not be allowed to join the official games, being neither normal nor mage. Danarius, narcissistic and ostentatious, had created a spectacle solely for the purpose of intimidating and impressing his peers. Fenris was not the first slave Danarius had tried to brand, nor would he be the last. Those were Danarius' motivations to keep Fenris well and alive. Not only was Fenris seen as a unique wonder beheld by the other Magisters, he was also the only one who had survived the ritual. Danarius intended to glean every secret the elf's body held before attempting to create another. Imagine what an army of lyrium warriors could achieve.

It was then Anders knew his so-called master was an abomination short of a demon, but he kept that realisation to himself. Now that he had heard how valuable Danarius considered Fenris to be, Anders attempted to persuade the Magister to grant the elf better living conditions. Gladiators must be well-fed, well-rested and well-trained if they were to excel and become champions. They should be clad in armour that lauded their master's house and given a weapon worthy of awe.

Danarius had laughed rather amusedly – it was a better reaction than Anders had hoped for. The Magister consent to the better food and training, but the others, Fenris had to earn by winning. Anders then promptly thanked the Magister in a simpering, overweening manner that he knew pleased the latter.

As the weeks went by, Fenris' day-to-day living condition improved, so Anders thought that the elf could at least say a thank you, grudging or otherwise. Even after all this time, Fenris was cold and distant.

"Have I done something to offend you in a previous life?" Anders asked one night while checking up on Fenris. "I'm quite sure I haven't done anything in this one."

Fenris issued a barely concealed snort of derision, but, like a good slave, he held his tongue.

"What?" Anders snapped. He was getting tired of being snubbed by the one person he had spent a lot of time taking care of. Again, Fenris declined to answer. Anders continued, "Fine, you don't like me, at least show a little appreciation for all the things I've done for you, you bloody ingrate."

There was a flash of anger in Fenris' eyes as he glanced at Anders but quickly looked away again. 

"Speak!" Anders commanded. He was actually surprised that he had resorted to that. In all his time in Danarius' household, he had never once exercised any authority over anyone. He never assumed that authority in the first place, but now it was too late take it back.

"Thank you, master," Fenris spat those words out like they were poison.

Anders sighed. "That was not what I meant. I mean why the Void are you so pissed of at me?"

"I wouldn't dare, master."

The urge to throttle the elf was suddenly quite strong in Anders. "You're obviously dying to speak your mind, so go ahead. You have my permission," he finished sarcastically.

It was clearly the wrong thing to say, even in jest. Fenris' nostril flared in fury, but still he held his tongue. It was a mark of an obedient slave, and all of a sudden, Anders felt sick. He promptly left.


	8. Chapter 8

More weeks went by and both Anders and Fenris performed their given duty without truly interacting with one another. As long as nothing got Anders into trouble, Fenris could be struck mute for all he cared. In spite of their strained relationship, Anders was pleased to find Fenris' injuries getting less serious. Clearly, the elf was getting better at this barbaric sport. Anders then wondered if that was actually a good thing.

One fine evening, upon arriving at Fenris' room, he saw that the elf had company. Anders was about to leave them alone when he realised that it was Hadriana. What could that snotty, knob-polishing bint want with Fenris? 

Hadriana held herself way above the hired and enslaved help. The only time she was ever interested in them was when she was looking for her next victim. It seemed rather strange and bold that she had chosen Fenris, the master's prized possession, as her next target. Whatever her impetus, Anders would not stand idly by and let her have her way. If she was acting under Danarius' order then she would have nothing to hide.

"Ahh, Hadriana, our voracious vixen," Anders crooned, "What brings you here, slumming with the help?"

"Begone, healer," she snapped, "This does not concern you."

"On the contrary, my dear manqué magister, Fenris is my primary responsibility, everything about him is my concern." He sat down and made himself at home, further infuriating her.

She threw him a dirty look. "Just because you have weaselled your way into the Master's favour, don't think you can tell me what to do."

"Perish that thought!" Anders proclaimed dramatically, "But you know, Fenris has a game tonight. Moreover, I am duty bound to report everything about him to the Magister. I wouldn't want it on my conscience if something untoward should happen to anyone." It was, at best, an audacious and, at worst, a foolish thing to issue a veiled threat to Hadriana; but Anders had the tendency to run his mouth off. He counted himself lucky he hasn't done so with Danarius – yet.

"I will remember this, healer," she snarled as she made a move to leave.

"Oh, marvellous," Anders replied cheekily, "I do so hate repeating myself."

Hadriana slammed the door so hard it rattled on its hinges. Anders sank down into chair and exhaled shakily. Then, belatedly, he lamented, "That's it, the witch is going to smother me in my sleep, that is if I'm lucky. I envision a lot of pain and suffering in my immediate future."

As always, Fenris remained silent, not that Anders expected anything else.

"Right, let's make sure you're all fit and healthy for tonight. I can at least go to my death with some professional pride knowing I carried out my duty to the end," he said sardonically.

For a change, Fenris goggled at him uncertainly rather than with dislike. 

"In any case, you're fine. Try not to get injured tonight. There's no guarantee I'll still be alive when you get back. Good healers are hard to find around here." Anders left and headed back to his room, while seriously considering the idea of barricading his door.

Later that night, Anders virtually jumped out of his skin when a knock resounded upon his door. Apparently, Danarius wanted to see him; Hadriana must've tattled, that bitch. He wondered what his epitaph would say, or maybe he'll be tossed in to an unmarked grave, if there was enough left of him. 

However, he had little to worry about that night. Danarius had actually wanted Anders to join him in that night's games. In all honesty, the idea repulsed him; having seen the kind of injury Fenris had sustained, Anders knew that he wouldn't want to witness it. Still, it wasn't like he could refuse. He doubted that Danarius would accept his excuse of having nothing suitable to wear.

The pungent smell of perfume in the arena was cloying and nigh-overwhelming, and yet it barely covered the tang of blood and decay underlying it. It wasn't that Anders abhorred violence, he would quite happily fry a man should the need arise, but mindless slaughter was another thing. He kept his eyes down, followed Danarius like a lost puppy as the Magister strutted across the seating array like he was cock of the walk, meeting and greeting as he went along. Fenris had been taken to the pens, Anders had shuddered at the implication of the word, to prepare for his fight.

Eventually, they had wend their way to a private seating box, which awarded them a good view of the battleground. Anders would've quite liked an impeded view if he had a choice. He took the seat behind the Magister and feigned interest whenever necessary.

To say the games were brutal was a gross understatement. What possibly fun could anyone derive from this? Even the Templars, who, in Anders' opinion, were the handmaidens of evil, did not have such a thirst for bloodshed. 

After the third battle, Fenris was trotted out of the pens along with a kossith who was twice the elf's height and thrice his width. Anders found his heart in his throat all throughout the fight. Danarius was ever so delighted when Fenris won; Anders was simply relieved.

When Fenris entered the arena again shortly after his battle, Anders was concerned when he noticed that the elf had not received any kind of healing. Danarius did not seem to care; it was clear that this was nothing unusual. When the arena guards had trundled out Fenris' opponent in a large cage, Anders could feel the fear hammering hard in his chest. The audience seemed quite surprised, too, for in the cage, raging against its confinement, was a darkspawn hurlock. Even Danarius did not look pleased.

Anders could scarcely believe that someone was crazy enough to trap a darkspawn for entertainment purposes; not to mention risking the spread of the darkspawn sickness. It was beyond insane.

Despite the obvious danger, Fenris looked at his opponent with a calculating gaze absent of fear. No, Anders would not sit idly by and allow others to wilfully place his charge in unacceptable mortal danger. Moreover, Anders was sure Danarius would somehow make it his fault if Fenris met his untimely death that night.

Anders would have to time it right, thus he watched the battle intensely. Whenever Fenris evoked his own lyrium-enhanced abilities, he would be suffused with a faint blue aura. It was then that Anders would channel a little bit of mana to aid Fenris; a little help in regeneration, or a spell to bolster his waning strength, even a slight burst of speed here and there. It was cheating, of course, but then introducing a darkspawn gladiator was nothing but folly. 

Then suddenly, Anders realised that Danarius was watching him instead. Anders knew he had been caught, and he could only pray for a merciful death. Danarius leaned forward and asked in an unctuous whisper if Anders was _"helping"_ , and Anders contemplated briefly if he should lie, but decided against it.

Danarius' lips stretched across his teeth in a broad, diabolical grin, then said. "I hadn't thought you had the balls for this, healer. Carry on."

_Anything for a victory, huh?_

Later when Anders was tending to Fenris' wounds back in the estate, Fenris spoke to him for the first time without prompting.

"You helped me, in the arena; they would've punished you harshly if they knew," he said. 

"Well, it's a good thing they didn't know then."

A moment passed, and Fenris continued, "You challenged Hadriana, too. Why did you do that?"

"I like living on the edge, it gives my life a bit of zest."

After another pause, Fenris spoke again, "I've heard what the others say about you." 

"All lies! I am a perfect gentleman."

Fenris merely stared in response. Clearly, he didn't know how to respond to Anders. So Anders asked instead, "Why so chatty all of a sudden? I thought you despised me."

Fenris looked away. "I did not mean to speak out of turn."

"Andraste's knickerweasels!" Anders whispered in exasperation, "If you're going to be like that I'd rather you just ignore me. Never mind, just get some rest." 

From that night on, two things had changed – Fenris no longer regarded Anders with utter contempt. Even if he wasn't altogether amicable, it still felt like an improvement; and secondly, much to Anders' chagrin, Danarius had Anders accompany him to every game. Anders didn't have any qualms about cheating, he just didn't like watching the games. At least that kept him on Danarius' good side.

Several months later, after Fenris had bested all in Qarinus, Danarius had decided to show off his invincible warrior in Minrathous. 

Minrathous was a far grander city than Qarinus. Considered the heart of the empire it had stood since the age of the Arlathan Elves. Tall, elegant structures graced the skyline but Anders paid them no heed. There was something far more beautiful to train his eyes upon.

Danarius had rewarded Fenris generously for his debut into the Minrathous arena. Fenris was now the proud owner of a newly commissioned armour and a flawless replica of the Blade of Mercy. For most native Tevinters, receiving a Blade of Mercy was a mark of honour. Fenris may not have voiced his feelings about receiving one, but Anders had seen him staring at the thing for hours.

Clad in his new armour, his sword strapped to his back, Fenris did not look anything like a slave. Lithe and confident, he walked with a fluid grace that was rarely seen in warriors. Coupled with his stark white hair and lyrium brands, it was no wonder that he had drawn the attention of many admirers, both male and female.

Upon showing his prowess in the arena, Fenris had risen fast to be one of the favourites, much to Danarius' delight. After winning a particularly prestigious event, Danarius had decided to host a victory celebration. Of course, it was merely another way for the Magister to elevate himself among the Minrathous elite than to truly honour Fenris. To be honest, Anders was sure that Fenris didn't care either way; he wasn't even present for most of the night. 

As the soirée slowly descended into drunkenness and depravity, Anders made his quick escape. He may have been promiscuous in the Circle, but he was no exhibitionist. After the third proposition by random, and undesirable, guests, Anders felt it would be prudent for him to leave at the first opportunity. Just before he fled, he swiped a couple of bottles of wine, which lay abandoned on a sideboard.

"I thought you should at least enjoy some of this," he said when he got to Fenris' room. "They were bought in your honour, after all."

Fenris looked at him, bewildered. Anders invited himself in.

"Did I miss some head injury? You look dazed. It's wine – Aggregio Parvali. Stupidly expensive and probably tastes like swill." Anders handed a bottle to Fenris, before taking a generous gulp from his own bottle. "Actually, it's not bad. I should've taken more."

"You took them without asking?"

"You worry too much. The _master_ won't miss a couple of bottles. He's too busy enjoying other earthly delights. Give it back if you're not going to drink it."

Fenris took a hesitant sip, then a bigger one.

"That's a good lad!" Anders crowed, then took another gulp from his bottle. He had already had a generous amount of libations earlier, and was starting to really feel the effects of the alcohol. He would no doubt wake up with a hangover, but this was truly fine wine.

For a few moments in silence, they sat, shoulder to shoulder, simply enjoying the wine. It was odd, but not unpleasant. While they no longer regarded each other with raw hostility, their relationship had not really progressed to that of friendship. Anders had wondered if they could ever be friends. Their different social caste meant nothing to Anders, of course, but he assumed it was different for Fenris, who had been conditioned since childhood to be subservient to a mage. Nevertheless, Fenris had become more comfortable in Anders' presence over the years they had spent together.

"You're not like the others. Why did you come to Tevinter to become a Magister?" Fenris asked. It was rare for him to initiate a conversation; evidently the wine was loosening his tongue.

"Maker, that's not why I came at all. I just wanted to get away from the Templars. There's too much work involved in becoming a Magister, not to mention the exotic taste for debauchery and bloodshed. I like a simple life. I have plans to retire to the country with a plump wife and several nubile mistresses."

Fenris chuckled; it was a heartening sound.

"Was that a laugh? Goodness, be careful, you might injure yourself," Anders quipped, elbowing the other man playfully.

"I need not worry as I have the best healer in Tevinter here with me."

Anders scoffed, "I'm beginning to think you only like me for my magic."

Fenris looked away then took a long drag from his bottle. Anders thought for a moment then that he had said the wrong thing and offended the other man again, but then Fenris spoke again, very quietly, "Magic did this to me." He lifted up his hand, and flexed his fingers, making his brands glimmer in the candlelight. 

"It took everything that I was from me, and gave me a life of ever-ending pain. I wanted to die, but you were there, constantly dragging me back from the precipice with your magic, and there were times when I resented you for that." He paused and drew in a shaky breath. "I still do, sometimes. What future is there for me? I cannot have plans to go the countryside and take a wife. You'll be gone before long, and if I'm lucky, one of these games will soon claim my life."

"Fenris..." Anders faltered, at a lost on how to console the other man. He could not promise Fenris freedom, nor could he vow to stay. He had never once thought how wretched Fenris' life could be. After all, being alive, even as a slave, was better than dead, wasn't it?

"I'm sorry," Anders eventually said. "I didn't realise."

"Why would you? You are not a slave."

"I can't promise you anything, but I'll do all I can to help find you a wife and retire to the country," Anders boldly proclaimed.

Fenris smiled wistfully and turned to meet Anders' eyes. "And the nubile mistresses?"

"Oh, yes, mustn't forget them!" Anders returned the smile enthusiastically.

No doubt it was his highly intoxicated state that subverted Anders' self-restraint when he had decided to capture a kiss from Fenris. In Anders' defence, Fenris was absolutely gorgeous, and Anders was also a young man who hadn't been intimately involved with anyone since he arrived in Tevinter. 

Fenris looked startled and Anders began to feel like a lecherous pervert. He had half feared that Fenris would comply because, as a slave, he felt compelled to.

"That was out of line, you don't have to. I'm very drunk," Anders admitted, "It's just that you're so beautiful and, Maker, it sounds so shallow, but I do like you and we both could probably do with a good shag. Andraste's knickerweasels, that sounds even worse! Did I mention I'm very drunk?"

A look of amusement graced Fenris' expression. "Yes, twice; but so am I." He paused, offered a gaze laden with intention, then continued, "I may be obedient, but that does not mean my own needs are absent."

Anders stared at first, unsure if he understood what he had heard. "Are you sure? I don't want to force –" Anders began but his words died in the back of his throat when Fenris had pushed him to the ground, even if he did look a little uncertain as to what he should do next.

Taking Fenris' inaction as his cue to lead, Anders pressed another kiss upon Fenris' lips and rolled them over; this time he did not hesitate and before long, Fenris mustered the confidence to kiss him back with equal fervour. It was a heady sensation – experiencing the initial rush of an intimate liaison and Anders relished it.

It was strange that even though there had been many occasions where Anders had laid his hands upon Fenris to heal him, touching him then lent to a new sensual experience. It was almost like Anders was feeling the warmth of Fenris' skin for the first time and he ached for more. However, as Anders ran his hands down Fenris' arms, the latter seemed to flinch. Anders knew, even if Fenris never voiced it, that Fenris was in constant pain. A fire burned beneath Fenris' skin as his body and the lyrium fought a never-ending battle for victory. Instead of retreating, Anders decided on an impulse to chill his hands. Fenris gasped in surprise and, Anders hoped, relief, which was followed by an urgent plea for more. 

Heartened by the positive response, Anders hurriedly tugged Fenris' tunic off, taking a moment to admire the elf's beauty. Then, as he gingerly traced a graceful line across Fenris' chest with ice-cold tongue, the lyrium brands shimmered, igniting an exhilarating thrill of magic through Anders, which, in turn, fuelled Anders' desire further. 

When Anders had disrobed Fenris completely, it was all he could do not to ravage the elf thoroughly. Despite his own urgent cravings, he was determined to make it an experience they both enjoyed. He lavished exquisite attention upon Fenris, taking in every minutiae of the elf's body. Kisses were laid upon the scars of gruesome injuries past, and dexterous fingers teased sensitised spots. 

Anders could detect the lingering bouquet of the scented oil that Fenris had been anointed with for his "presentation" earlier that the evening. Ambrosia and sandalwood, Anders determined – a decadent mix to delight the senses and provoke an arousal, which was definitely doing wonders to enhance Anders' experience. He only wished he had more of the oil to use; although, at that moment, any slick within arm's reach would do just fine. 

While, Fenris had seemed somewhat confused by all the attention, he certainly enjoyed it thoroughly. Every little gasp and moan that Fenris made set Anders own lust thundering. Anders soon gave himself to the intoxicating torrent of carnal pleasures and inebriation. Bringing them together in a slow, electric fusion sent shivers down his spine and drained the breath out of his lungs. He paused to savour the moment, and his gaze met Fenris'. 

Something seemed to have changed within those deep green eyes, but Anders could not quite put a word to it. Notwithstanding, Anders knew that in that profound moment the dynamics of their relationship had been irrevocably changed; and he welcomed it. 

Despite Anders' position of advantage, he allowed Fenris to set the pace. Fenris moved, hesitantly at first, in undulating waves that slowly swelled in response to his baser instincts, driving them closer, deeper together. Scorching fingers seared into icy skin – no doubt leaving tangible reminders of this tryst – they burned even as they soothed, and Anders trembled at the dichotomy of the paired sensation. The opposing forces of flame and frost met in a swirling, savage maelstrom; and when they reached the crest, they coalesced into incandescent euphoria that left Anders breathless yet, simultaneously, keening the name of his newfound lover. 

~*~

Thus, Anders recounted an abridged version of how his relationship with Fenris progressed, omitting the more salacious details for Merrill's sake. The way Mahariel was smirking at him though, Anders was certain she had fill in the gaps herself.

"That was a good story," Merrill grinned at Anders. "But that's not the end, tell me more."

"Slow down, lethallan," Mahariel laughed, "It's late, and we should leave the rest of the story for another day."

"You're probably right," Merrill nodded, then stood up, gave Anders a quick peck on the cheek goodnight and retired to her tent.

Anders mouthed his thanks to Mahariel when she, too, headed to bed. He remained by the fire for a little longer, nursing the now-cold tea in his hand. When he had agreed to share his, their, past with Merrill, he had not expect it to evoke such feelings. 

When Danarius had placed Fenris under his care, he had simply carried out his duty to avoid disfavour. He would not have imagined that he would come to care for Fenris, and certainly not this deeply. There was a mutual sense of concern between them, that much he was sure of; they had proven it by taking care of each other whilst still with Danarius and since being on the run. But affection, even love? Anders scoffed at the ludicrous idea. He probably knew the wolf better than the elf, and vice versa. Could one love another without spending any time with each other as their true selves?

Even as he denied his feeling so vehemently, he found himself straining his eyes into the dark to search for the familiar shadow of a wolf standing guard over him. Anders wouldn't dare assume his feelings would be returned. Even if they had been physically intimate before, Fenris had never shed his mistrust and hatred for magic. Anders embraced his gift, he was proud to be a mage, and he could not see how someone like Fenris could accept him as he was. 

After one last glance into the darkened woods, Anders, too, retired for the night.


	9. Chapter 9

Fenris knew that Anders had been _talking_ to the women when he realised that Merrill had been staring and grinning at him for days. Thankfully, Mahariel had not suddenly found him so fascinating as well; he doubted he could deal with two women goggling at him like he was some fairground attraction. Even if he was a smidgen curious as to what Anders had been telling them, he thought that it would probably be better for him that he didn't know. 

Thus, he directed his focus on the journey, not that he needed to these days. Mahariel led them confidently through the forest steadily moving southwest. While Fenris had slowly grown proficient in finding his way around the wilderness, he was no match for the Dalish hunter. It was almost as if the trees themselves spoke to her.

One afternoon, as Fenris and Merrill caught up with Mahariel, they found her standing stock still staring hard into the forest. She may not have had drawn her weapons, but Fenris could tell she was battle ready.

"What is it?" He asked.

"This is the border to the Kocari Wilds," she explained, "Untamed, savage, and deadly. Just stay alert. You, too, Merrill."

Fenris wondered how she knew, the woods before him looked pretty much the same as the one behind him. However, as he looked on, he noticed that a prevalent mist, which seemed to thicken further in, hung within the Wilds.

They moved at a steady pace, but there was a tautness in the ambience. Mahariel was ever alert, even Merrill was, too, which spoke volumes of the potential danger in these Wilds. They had traversed deeper into the Wilds for several days without incident. It was the lynx who first alerted them with a warning yowl. Moments following, the lynx came speeding back into their company, his ears flat, his teeth bared. Weapons in hand, the trio stood ready to receive the threat.

"Blight wolves," Mahariel cried, her sharp hunter eyes first espied the enemy, as she let loose her arrows in a veritable storm. The first few fell to her barrage; some who had dodged the arrows were swiftly caught in a snare of thorns then scorched by filaments of raw lightning that Merrill had summoned. The remainder surged forward and Fenris, standing firm at the vanguard, fell them as a lumberjack would trees.

Even as the blight wolves lay dead or dying, an even greater beast lumbered through the woods towards them. It was yet another corrupted animal – a bear. Mahariel loosed more arrows but they could scarcely penetrate the bereskarn's thick hide. Merrill had begun hurling conjured rocks at it, making it stumble and slow, but, still, it advanced. Then without warning another creature seemingly fell from the treetops upon the charging bereskarn.

A giant spider tore savagely at the bereskarn, its huge mandibles shredding flesh and organs mercilessly. It was over in a flash, and when the spider turned to face them, the trio raised their weapons. Surprisingly, as the spider took a step forward, it changed – changed into a woman.

She scrutinised them then asked, "Well, well ... What have we here?"

"We seek the wisdom of Asha'bellanar," Merrill replied immediately.

"Wisdom?" the black-haired mage snorted, "Mad ramblings is more likely, but who am I say who the Dalish should listen to. Nor is it my place to deny you. Follow me. "

Merrill thanked the mage and moved to follow, as did Mahariel. If Fenris hadn't witness the mage's own shapeshifting ability, he would have questioned the prudence in following her. She held herself to be dangerous and powerful. This Asha'bellanar must be whom they have been searching for, and this mage was likely the apprentice.

They were led to a ramshackle hut in the middle of the Wilds. It stood out prominently, and almost out of place. Why would this place be hard to find? Perhaps it was, indeed, enchanted. As they approached the shack, Fenris saw an old, haggard-looking woman standing by the door, as if she was waiting for them. There was something about her presence that made Fenris' skin crawl.

"Greetings, Mother. I bring before you three –"

"I see them, girl," the old woman interrupted, pausing momentarily before continuing, "Hmm, much as I expected."

"We're supposed to believe you were expecting us?" Fenris asked skeptically.

The old woman smirked. "You are required to do nothing; least of all believe. Shut one's eyes shut tight or open one's arms wide, either way, one's a fool."

Before Fenris could retort, Merrill stepped forward and bowed reverently. "Andaran atish'an, Asha'belannar."

"Such manners! And always in the last place you look ... like stockings!" She cackled, then her voice turned somber. "One of the People, so young and bright. Do you know who I am beyond that title?"

"I know only a little," Merrill replied.

"Then stand. The People bend their knee to quickly."

"So this is the dreaded Witch of the Wilds," Fenris remarked.

The old woman smirked, her demeanour playful again. "Witch of the Wilds, eh? Morrigan, must've told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it. Oh, how she dances under the moon!" She said, cackling.

The younger witch sighed exasperatedly. "They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother."

"True. They came for their answers..." Her gaze shifted back to Fenris and he could distinctly feel his brands responding to her powers.

"You are no simple witch," he said.

"Figured that our yourself, did you?" The Witch replied.

"I have seen powerful mages, spirits and abominations, but you are none of those things. What are you?"

"Such a curious lad. The chains are broken but are you truly free?"

"You see a great deal."

The Witch smiled, her gaze still penetrating. "Indeed. Not mage-born, but marked by the lifeblood of magic. An anathema and an enigma. Oh, yes, it is clear now – old, dark, exquisite! And there is the other half." She turned to look at the lynx hovering at the fringes of the woods.

"Please, can you help us with the curse?" Merrill asked, not sounding surprised at all that the old woman could see the curse just by looking at Fenris.

"What do I know about curses? I'm just an old woman living in the middle of the Wilds," she waved her hands dismissively.

"We have wasted our time," Fenris retorted, turning to leave. "Clearly, she cannot break the curse."

"Then, please, at least tell us what you know of the curse," Merrill beseeched, while ignoring Fenris.

"You are Marethari's First? Yes. Yes, you are; then you already know the legends. The Dread Wolf's guises were naught in the presence of those who could look upon him as his true self. There is much power in one's true self, for no other man can deny one of it. One only needs to accept it! Assert it! Confront others with it! And it will set one free."

Merrill looked blankly at her. "One's true self? What does that mean?"

"Who knows? Legends are what they are – a delicious mix of truth and exaggeration. The intriguing part is figuring out which part is which." The Witch chuckled. "You have what you came for."

"Time for you to go then," Morrigan said.

"Do not be ridiculous, girl. They are your guest."

Morrigan sighed wearily. "Oh, very well. I will show you out of the woods. Follow me."

Fenris felt the terrible urge to throttle the old hag. They had spent weeks searching for her and it was for nothing. He was beginning to feel a renewed hatred towards mages. Everywhere he turned, he was being jerked around by one.

Morrigan led them north without so much a peep. Only Merrill spoke and it was more to herself as she tried to decipher the gibberish that the Witch had spouted.

"One's true self, that could mean one's original form? Fenris as an elf and Anders a human? But they already assume their natural form, one in the day, one in the night." Merrill babbled. "And that is part of the curse. Perhaps they need to be in their original form together? How is that possible?"

Morrigan scoffed derisively, then murmured enigmatically, "A day without night, a night without day."

"I beg your pardon?" Merrill hurried to her side. "You know about this curse? You must do, you are her daughter and you can shapeshift."

"You put too much stock in an old woman's words and silly little legends."

Unusually, Merrill gave Morrigan a hard stare. "You and I know that is not true. You accompany us not because we need to be led, but because you are to aid us, is that not so?"

Once again, Merrill had surprised Fenris with her hidden astuteness. He supposed she wouldn't have been chosen to succeed Marethari if she did have her head permanently in the clouds.

Morrigan let out a low chuckle. "You seem clever enough, no doubt you'll figure this out before long."

"Are all you mages this insufferable?" Fenris demanded.

"Certainly not; I can be charming, if I choose to," Morrigan replied airily. "So what form has been chosen for you? Bear? No, too savage. Spider? Too venomous. Wolf, then? Graceful, and fierce; much like your elven form. Ah, yes, a wolf and a lynx; how adorable," she finished sarcastically.

"Do you know the story of the hawk and the wolf?" Merrill asked Morrigan, ignoring Fenris' exchange with the witchling altogether. "How does it end?"

"You Dalish and your stories," Morrigan sighed melodramatically, but she did begin reciting it in a bored tone, "The cursed lovers took their fate into their own hands. On a day without night, a night without day, they confronted the wicked Magister. And when he looked upon them both as their true selves together, the curse was broken; as it was with Fen'Harel who could never hold his guises in the presence of the gods and the Forgotten ones."

"Gibberish!" Fenris muttered.

"Yes, perhaps," Morrigan drawled. She then came to a halt and pointed north. "Keep moving in this direction, three days north you'll find the ruins of an imperial fortress, long forgotten by its builders. From there a road shall lead you back to civilisation. Tarry not, t'would seem the snow shall be upon these woods soon," and with that she turned to leave.

Merrill called after her and thanked her. She turned to give them a slight smirk and a quick incline of her head before shifting into a fox, and then vanished into the woods.

All three elves stared after her for a moment. Fenris was surprised at how easy, even elegant she looked when she changed. Even after all this time, he felt nothing but discomfort every time it happened to him. Morrigan had _wanted_ to change, and if Fenris finally accepted his own transformation, then maybe it wouldn't be such an unpleasant experience.

"Let's set up camp here. I'm sure we could all do with a rest and sunset isn't far away," Mahariel said, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Merrill will speak with the shem, then you can decided what you want to do. We will stay until we reach the ruins and shall part ways there."

A slight pang twitched in Fenris' chest. Of course the Dalish would return to their clan. He was actually surprised at himself for making the assumption that they would travel with them indefinitely. He was even more surprised that he felt that he would miss them when they went their separate ways. It had been nice to have some companionship but, he supposed, all good things will come to an end.


	10. Chapter 10

True to Morrigan's words the snow began to fall the day before they had reached the imperial ruins. Mahariel had managed to find the only still standing structure in the ruins, a tall tower at the north east corner. The snow lay rather deep and it would no doubt take a few days for the snowfall to abate. Their tents would be poor shelter in the blizzard, thus they had ensconced themselves within the tower.

It was clear that the tower had been abandoned for decades. Broken and rotted furniture littered the rooms, rusted weapons hung balefully on their rickety racks and a smell of damp and decay lingered in the air but at least they were out of the snow. They had found a room with a clear chimney flue and quickly went about lighting a fire. As the mattresses were mostly rotted, the blankets, though rather moth eaten, were laid on the ground as makeshift beds. Once they had hung the tent canvas over the empty door frame, the room had begun to warm up. It was rather pleasant; good thing, too, considering Mahariel predicted that they would be there for several days.

The last time Anders spent a night in a building with all its walls and roof intact was way back when they had imposed upon Varric. It made him strangely nostalgic. The tower was large and spacious, even enough for a wolf to roam. Even now, Anders could hear the faint clicking of sharp claws upon stone echoing through the empty tower. He felt much better in having Fenris within; it was far too cold out there. In the previous winters they had avoided areas of extreme cold. Anders hated the cold; the one grateful thing he felt when he was taken from the Anderfels was not having to endure another blistering winter.

Anders huddled close to the fire taking in the comforting warmth. Merrill was hunched over a sturdy crate littered with the pieces parchment that she had written on about the curse. She was determined to write down all her thoughts and their discussions before they parted company. Anders was very grateful for her dedication. Even if they hadn't quite figured out the riddles Morrigan and her mother gave them, Anders felt better having someone else to puzzle it out with him. 

Merrill looked up as if sensing Anders' gaze. He gave her a smile.

"I think I've written everything down," she said. "Unless you have something new to add?"

Anders shook his head. "No, I think the cold has frozen my brain. I'm not capable of any intelligent though at the moment."

"At the moment?" Mahariel quipped with a smirk. She had been cleaning and sharpening the weapons.

"Rude!" Anders offered her an obscene gesture which made her snigger.

"You two are like fledglings," Merrill complained. She then picked up a blanket and snuggled up by the fire opposite Anders. "You haven't finished your story," she continued. "I want to hear the end before you go. How did you escape?"

Anders smiled wanly. "Are you going to write down our tragic tale?"

"Maybe, at the very least it will be a wondrous story to tell."

"Only if the heroes can break the curse."

"Well, we'll just have to make sure they do then," she replied resolutely. "But that's for later. Tell me."

"Alright, Little Miss Bossy Boots," Anders laughed. 

~*~

They returned to Qarinus some months later. Fenris had bested all but the very best of the Minrathous gladiators. Anders knew Danarius would not have been satisfied until Fenris had been proclaimed the best but other pressing concerns had forced Danarius to return; trouble was brewing upon the island of Seheron. 

Seheron had always been a contested territory between Tevinter and the Qunari. Anders had heard that the Magisters believed that the Qunari were _"up to something."_ Strange that they were kicking up such a fuss, considering they thought the Qunari were _always_ up to something. It must have been something big for Danarius to be sent there personally. Even more so when Danarius had decided to pack up all his apprentices and bring them with him.

Quite frankly, Anders wasn't pleased about being in Seheron. He had no true purpose there. Indeed, apart from Hadriana, who stuck to Danarius like a barnacle on a hull, none of the apprentices appeared to even have knowledge of what was it they were doing on Seneron. The other apprentices, naturally, tried to implant themselves into the situation, much to Hadriana's annoyance. That also meant Anders had resume his role as the invisible, unambitious healer. 

He was rather happy about that actually. The last thing he wanted was anyone paying attention to him, and what he was doing. Perhaps, to put it more aptly, _who_ he was doing.

After that first celebratory party that Danarius had hosted in Minrathous, he and Fenris had continued their liaison. That was to say, whenever the opportunity for a quick shag arose, they seized it. It was a purely physical relationship. Fenris still barely spoke to him, and they had to maintain a master-slave façade in company. Notwithstanding, Anders wasn't going to complain. After all, Fenris was a damned good lay and having no-strings-attached sex was something he was used to.

However, since arriving on Seheron, Danarius had had the elf by his side constantly, almost as if he feared the Qunari would jump out of shadowed corners to attack him. Since Fenris had stopped competing, Anders had found himself without his primary duty. Thus, he had spent his days the city – mostly at the marketplace and the docks – to glean any gossip from the common people and to gauge the atmosphere there.

Seheron was not a beautiful city. Anders had heard it was once a jewel of the empire but the invasion of the Qunari had destroyed almost all its beauty. When the Imperium rebuilt it, they had made it more functional, more defendable. Thus, the city was primarily made up of monotonous blocks of evenly spaced buildings. At least it made the streets easy to navigate.

He had noticed the steady rise of the columns of smoke from the blacksmiths around town for many days now; their forges alight with fire, and their hammers striking ceaselessly to ensure the army was well equipped. The warehouses stood under heavy guard, no doubt filling to the brim with supplies. Even the patrols had been doubled, ever vigilant of any trouble brewing.

It was clear to Anders that he had some planning to do as well, it never hurt to be prepared for the worst. 

Anders may never be some big shot Magister of the Imperium, but he had been shrewd enough to grease a few palms of the more influential common people around town, just like he had within Danarius' household back in Qarinus. One such person was the dock master; Anders always thought that it would be advantageous for him to have the means of being snuck on board any ship at a moment's notice; incidentally, a favour that he might have to call upon sooner than expected.

The dock master was a sly, oily man who was embroiled in as many illegal dealings as he was in legitimate ones. While his fee for any services rendered often involved an obscene amount of money, Anders had ferreted out the dock master's guilty pleasure – Orlesian silk. As fate would have it, during his journey to Tevinter, Anders had befriended a rather prosperous dwarven merchant. While Anders had not seen the dwarf himself since he had been in Tevinter, he knew the dwarf had trade representatives that occasionally stopped over in Seheron, who conveniently carry a small supply of Orlesian silk goods for a reasonable price. 

Needless to say, Anders became both the dock master's best friend and potential blackmailer in one fell swoop. Anders knew he couldn't trust the man as far as he could throw him, but at least he could count on him being forthcoming.

There was a tense atmosphere on the seas, the dock master had told Anders. The Qunari dreadnoughts seemed to be rather restless; harassing more trade ships than usual, even those that have past relations with them. No ship has been within twenty leagues of their fortress on Akhaad. Everyone knew they were planning something. A lot of captains had set sail as soon as they could, not wanting to get caught between a Tevinter-Qunari battle. The docks stood rather empty, only those they flew the Imperial standard stayed anchored, and even then, they were scarce. 

Anders knew the time for another world adventure was nigh.

It happened sooner than Danarius and his sycophants had anticipated and they were caught unprepared. Anders had no clue what had happened exactly – but, frankly, he didn't care – just that the city was suddenly in a state of panic. Danarius and Hadriana were nowhere to be found, doubtless that they fled at the first hint of trouble. The other apprentices were running around like headless chickens and the guards were barricading the mansion.

As chaos descended around him, Anders seized the opportunity to make his great escape. Over the past few weeks had had been squirrelling away bits and bobs that would be valuable enough for trade. He retrieved his cache and made his way to the slaves' entrance, which the guards, foolishly, had neglected to barricade.

"Master Anders!" One of the older slaves called to him. "What do we do?"

"There will probably be fighting," Anders replied. "Once I leave, get the men to barricade the outer doors and gates. Have the women and children to gather all the food, water and blankets, and take them to the cellar. Then take shelter there and barricade yourselves in. Stay as long as you have food and water."

The elf nodded and promptly issued the orders. Anders felt sorry for them, but at least, if they did not resist, the Qunari were more likely to try to convert them than slaughter them.

Anders did not linger, but as he stepped over the threshold he stumbled into someone. 

"Fenris!" Anders exclaimed, startled. He had assumed Danarius had taken the elf. "You're hurt." Anders hands instinctively moved to examine the wound on Fenris' head, then swiftly closed it. The elf's eyes looked unfocused; it was likely he had a concussion. "Where's Danarius?"

"Gone, fled on the first ship he could find. Hadriana went with him."

Anders had hoped Fenris would say they were dead, but that was probably too much to ask for. "Great. Listen, I'm going, too, and I won't be coming back. Ever. You can come with me if you want to."

Fenris looked at him, nonplussed.

"I came to Tevinter looking for freedom from the Chantry. Instead I found shackles of another kind. I mean to shed them, too. This is the perfect opportunity; one that we'll never get again. Come with me," he gave Fenris a lopsided smile, "And we'll retire to the country together with our plump wives."

"But the Master—"

Anders interrupted hotly, "The _master_ bloody abandoned us all for his own pathetic little ass. He does not deserve our loyalty. We run, or we'll end up fighting an age-old war that is not of our concern. Come," Anders placed his hands on Fenris' shoulders, "Obey me this one last time, and then we shall be as equals."

Fenris' head snapped up; his eyes, tinted with surprise, searched for the truth in Anders' own. Then slowly, apprehensively, he nodded and they both turned their back on Danarius and Tevinter, never to return. 

~*~

Merrill sighed goofily and Anders resisted the urge to plant his face in his hands. He had tried his best to censor details that she would misconstrue but clearly he had failed. From the corner of his eyes he could see Mahariel smirking at him.

"How did you get off Seheron?" Merrily asked.

"By ship, of course," Anders replied evasively; surprisingly, Merrill did not press the issue.

"When did you get cursed? You can't stop now, you must finish the story."

Anders turned to Mahariel and asked, "Is she always like that?"

Mahariel chuckled. "Since we were children. Always more, more, more!"

Merrill scoffed. "Like you were any better. You can't tell me you don't want to know more. I know you've been listening, too."

"Maybe," Mahariel replied in an off-handed manner. "Regardless of my interest, perhaps we should hear the tale of when the curse first took you. That was when this noble quest began, after all."

"Alright, you win. How can I resist such pretty faces?" Anders laughed. "We were already on the run for months. By luck or fate or the Maker's will, we would cross paths with old friends or meet new ones, and they helped us where they could as we made our way across Rivain to Antiva then onto the Free Marches. There were no plans really, we were just aiming to get as far away as possible from Tevinter. Danarius had sent hunters, of course, but we managed to either fight them off or flee from them. Maybe that was why he finally evoked the curse."

~*~

It was a sultry spring day, where the clouds were sparse and the approaching summer sun had warmed the day comfortably. The lush foliage of the forest had opened up to a picturesque view of a sun-dappled lake, backed by an open field of wild flowers. 

Anders would never admit it out loud but he was a romantic at heart and it looked like a good place to take a rest as any. As he slowed to a halt, Fenris turned and cast him a curious glance.

"I was hoping we could take a rest," Anders replied. 

Fenris raise his eyebrow sceptically. "Did you not rest enough in Starkhaven?"

"That was a week ago! Don't be a sour puss. It's a nice day, we haven't had anyone on our heels for weeks and this is beautiful. Besides, I should like to go for a swim."

"A swim?"

"Yes, a swim," Anders said resolutely, already moving to strip off his clothes. Just as he reached the water's edge, he cast a look over his shoulder and asked, "Do you know how to swim?"

Fenris, who had been surreptitiously staring at Anders' bare bottom, averted his eyes and replied, "I can't say for sure," curtly. 

"Well, come in and find out. The water is quite pleasant." When Fenris had stubbornly stood unmoving, Anders added, "Come in anyway and have a wash."

"Are you saying I smell?" Fenris demanded, smiling in spite of himself.

"Most definitely," Anders quipped.

"Fine." Fenris let out a long-suffering sigh, as he, too, shed his clothes, allowing Anders to unashamedly ogle. 

They discovered that Fenris did indeed know how to swim; at least he knew enough to not drown if he were suddenly pitched into the depths of the lake.

They had spent a large portion of the afternoon enjoying a leisurely wade, which also involved a little horseplay and general childishness on Anders' part. It had been a very long time since Anders had had a chance to play, much to Fenris' exasperation. 

As the day waned and the warmth of the sun began to fade, Anders cited he was getting cold and had wanted to catch the remnants of the sunshine. Surprisingly, Fenris reached out to grasp Anders wrist and drew closer to the latter. His voice sultry and poignant, he asked "Let me keep you warm," in a whisper. 

A rather large lump formed in Anders' throat, silencing any verbal reply that he had. Anders may have successfully curbed his libido during their swim, he could no longer deny it; not when the object of his desire had uttered such tantalising words. 

Without waiting for a reply, Fenris stole a kiss. It was tender, unhurried; much removed from the past kisses they had shared before, and yet, it was far more potent and profound than any kiss that Anders have had. The warmth of their kiss was mirrored in Anders' chest, blossoming outward to encompass his entire being. If their first night together had put two halves together, then this would be the mortar that cemented them to form a whole.

Anders could barely recall the last time they had been together; suddenly, he found himself voracious. When he noticed a matching look in Fenris' eyes, a thrill ran down his spine.

In Tevinter, their illicit affair had been little more than a series of whirlwind rendezvous, stealing secret minutes here and there just long enough to hush the primal need of the body. While Anders thoroughly enjoyed those little trysts, there was always the fear of being caught looming over them. 

Then, in the wilderness of the Free Marches, there was no threat of discovery; no rush to completion beyond slaking their own thirst. Furthermore, the obvious change in Fenris' demeanour added to this new and exhilarating experience. Any trepidation that Fenris may have felt in the past had evaporated as he made subtle overtures to assert himself. He was much bolder and more rapacious in fulfilling his need as well as meeting Anders' own. Anders revelled in every moment, and every act. 

With half lidded eyes and a prurient smile, Fenris reached up to pull Anders down for another fiery kiss; and Anders was almost certain that they would both, literally, be set ablaze. He filled Anders, body and soul, and Anders, reeling in heightened senses, surrendered eagerly to the culmination of their affection. 

They lingered on the lake's shore, basking in the evening sun and the post-coital bliss. It was the first time they did not feel the urgency to part and resume their respective roles. Anders could get used to it. 

"The sun will set soon," Fenris eventually said, rising to get dressed. "Perhaps we should get moving. I don't think we should spend the night in the open."

"In a minute, let's just enjoy the sunset first," Anders stretched lazily. 

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a rich bouquet of reds and oranges across the horizon. While watching the sun set, Anders noticed that the moon sat, pale and full, across from the sun. It was then he realised something amazing was happening. 

"Fenris, look." He pointed at the moon. " _Selenehelion,_ it's a rare event where a lunar eclipse can be seen in the sky at the same time as the sun. Some believe it's an auspicious sign, others think of it as a bad omen. Either way, it is something to behold."

They exchanged no further words as they witness the awe-inspiring phenomenon together. As the moon's benevolent face became fully hidden, Anders shivered, feeling a sudden thrill of magic course through his veins. Could there have been some truth to the old myths of curses and magic? He banished the foreboding notion with a stern thought and drew his attention back to the sky.

With the last remnants of the sun slipping beneath the horizon, so, too, did the moon begin to shed the shadow that veiled her face; and in that fateful moment, Fenris was taken by the curse for the very first time.

~*~

"That's it!" Merrill suddenly crowed, leaping to her feet. "That's what it means!"

Both Mahariel and Anders goggled at her sudden outburst. She looked excitedly at them as she explained, "Morrigan said, _'a day without night, a night without day.'_ She means an eclipse – a solar eclipse. If the curse began with an eclipse of the moon, then could it be put to an end during the eclipse of the sun."

"Aren't eclipses very rare?" Mahariel asked.

"Actually, they happen more often than we think. We just don't see all of them," Anders replied. "I used to share a room with a mage who studied the skies. He would go on for hours about it."

"Did he ever mention how to predict an eclipse?"

"Probably, but I don't always listen to him. The Chantry will have predictions."

"The Chantry?" Mahariel raised her eyebrow. "Why would they have it?"

"Most people are ignorant and superstitious, especially in the rural areas. They would view an eclipse as a supernatural event, or divine punishment, or something equally ludicrous. Even some educated scholars revere it. So one way of keeping the general populace from descending into chaos during an eclipse is for the Chantry to tell them when it is going to happen. It is also an insidious way to keep them under the Chantry's yoke."

"So all we have to do is ask someone at the Chantry," Merrill said. 

"Right, two Dalish elves and an apostate walk into a Chantry..." Anders said sarcastically. "It's not that easy, I doubt they'd give random strangers access to their records." 

"There must be some other way to find out," Merrill said.

Anders thought for a moment, then answered, "Actually, there might be." He rose and pinched a scrap of parchment from Merrill's stack then scribbled a short note. He handed the note to Merrill. "Ask Fenris to get this to Varric. It will take time to for the message to reach him, but its probably the best thing we can do."

"Certainly."

~*~

Anders woke to a bone-chilling cold, and for a moment he thought he was back in the Anderfels. He looked around and found the girls nestled snugly in their pile of blankets sound asleep. Anders could not help but feel a little jealous. Whether kindred or lover, he wanted to snuggle up against someone, too.

It was nearly sunrise, thus he didn't see the point in trying to sleep again. Pulling a blanket over his shoulders, Anders rose to rekindle the fire. While he puttered around as quietly as possible, he noticed a disquiet permeated the air. As it had been for the last couple of days, he could hear the echo of the howling winds beyond the walls of the dilapidated tower; but another familiar sound was absent. The sound of claws clicking upon the stone floor of the tower. Part curious and part worried, Anders went in search of Fenris. 

A few ramshackle rooms later, Anders found Fenris sitting quietly, if rather dignified, in a small personal quarters looking at something in the corner of the room. As Anders approached rather carefully, he realised that Fenris was staring into the broken remains of a grimy mirror and it surprised him. 

Did Fenris actually realise what he was doing and wanted to gaze upon the visage of his other form? Or was this just the curiosity of a wolf finding his own reflection?

"You are as handsome a wolf as you are an elf," Anders said quietly as he sat down, just a few feet from Fenris. 

The wolf turned to look at him, his expression actually looking a little confused. Anders chuckled. While Anders may not have had much chance to commune with the wolf, he had noted just how expressive and open Fenris could be in this form.

"Don't look so surprised, I'm sure you've been told before. Besides, I just caught you admiring yourself in the mirror. I don't blame you, though, I could probably stare at you for hours, too." Anders laughed. "Just as well you don't understand a word I'm saying."

Fenris cocked his head slightly, before letting out a short bark.

"I'm sorry I got you all mixed up in this. It was my fault. I honestly didn't think we'd end up being cursed for wanting our freedom." Anders sighed dejectedly. "But on the bright side, it's nearly over – this curse. Once we've broken it and killed Danarius, you'll be free. Truly free."

The wolf rose and took a single step towards Anders before sitting down on his haunches again, his head bowed. 

"Are you alright? You must be–" Anders stopped mid-sentence. He, too, felt the thrill of magic just under his skin; tugging at his awareness, his very sense of self, as the curse began to fill him. He thought to flee, to leave Fenris to his transformation but his own had him rooted to the spot. Closing his eyes momentarily, he let the magic wash over him. 

When he opened his eyes again, he was greeted by a vision he had not expect to see – a pair of stunning green elven eyes looking back at him in wonderment and disbelief. Anders' breath caught in his throat, and even as he raised his hand towards Fenris, _an elven_ Fenris, he realised that it was too late.

In another blink of the eyes, Anders was lost in a maelstrom heightened sights, sounds and smells.


	11. Chapter 11

It felt strange to Fenris to be travelling alone again. Despite only spending a short time, with Merrill and Mahariel, he felt their absence keenly. Fenris was grateful and touched by their willingness to aid the two complete stranger, cursed ones at that. He could not ask them of any more. Thus, after a tearful goodbye from Merrill and an equally stoic one from Mahariel, they finally parted company. That had been several days ago. The ladies headed back east towards their kindred while Fenris and the lynx headed north.

They didn't really have a destination, but they needed to keep moving. Anders had suggested to head towards the northern coast where word to and from Varric would be easier and quicker to obtain. 

While ambivalent about Anders and Merrill's conclusions to the witches' riddles, Fenris had to admit it was a good thing to have a goal to pursue. The aimless wandering they had been doing had been beginning to wear him down. 

The simplicity of the curse breaker was what made Fenris doubt it would work. Danarius was a pernicious, twisted man who revelled in exotic and sadistic torment. Fenris thought it unlikely that he would use a curse that was so easily broken. Then again, _easy_ was relative. Merrill and Anders had said it was easy, but Fenris didn't think so. It wasn't like an eclipse could be summoned at a whim. Despite Anders' confidence that they were more common than assumed, Fenris had never once witness a solar eclipse. Ironically, it was this nigh-impossible task of locating an eclipse that made a part of Fenris believe that they had found the the solution.

Notwithstanding, Fenris had decided to put a rein on his hopes. Instead, he had decided to keep his attention on the task at hand – that was to evade capture as they traversed the length of the kingdom. He quietly admitted to himself that he had been letting his guard down when they had company. Now that he was, for all intents and purposes, alone again, he should not let anything distract him.

As they wended their way through the woods, the lynx bounded on ahead with nary a care in the world. Even so Fenris wondered how Anders himself felt – was he hopeful or cautiously optimistic about this new revelation? Did he truly believe that the curse would be lifted or was he merely pursuing this avenue absent other choices?

What would happen after the curse has been lifted? Fenris harboured no illusions that Anders would want to stay together, even if his traitorous heart yearned for it. As always, whenever such thoughts surfaced, Fenris would reprimand himself for being foolish. He was a fugitive; what could he possible have to offer to someone like Anders?

Suddenly, the lynx let out a startled yowl as he was snapped up in a snare. Hanging several feet above ground the lynx could only struggle futilely. Fenris had initially thought that trappers were responsible but a second snare that he had barely managed to evade, plus the emergence of half a dozen armed men, told him it was an ambush. He cursed himself so eloquently for being careless even as he drew his sword to repel the first attack. 

Fenris belatedly realised that he had been herded into the narrow ravine like a mindless sheep. The odd felled tree, the misplaced pile of boulders, the peculiar quagmire, and many more subtle obstacles had been laid to funnel Fenris into the trap. Whoever was behind this ambush seemed a trifle more intelligent than the previous hunters. Fortunately for Fenris, the hired goons seemed rather of the garden variety sort. One by one, he had cut them down without too much effort.

There was a moment's lull in the air, but Fenris was not so easily fooled. Mages and warriors preferred a frontal assault, which meant there was a rogue stalking him, waiting for the right moment to strike at his unguarded back. Thus, to lure the rogue out, Fenris lowered his sword, just a little, and it was enough. His brands flared, lighting up the shadowed ravine even as a dagger passed harmlessly through his shoulder. Fenris struck out, his elbow connecting with something behind him. His assailant tucked and rolled out of his sword's reach. 

In an instant, the rogue was on his feet again, holding his daggers low and adopting a stance ready for another round. He was elven with hair of gold, skin of bronze, and a simple brand on his left cheek. His eyes were simultaneously alight with mischief and deadly intent. Fenris instantly knew that this hunter was a whole different calibre to the ones before.

Fenris raised his sword, but before he could attack, a loud battle shriek resounded around them followed by the shattering of a grenade directly in front of the rogue. Fenris scrambled back, hastily avoiding the noxious fumes that had blossomed rapidly. Even as he tried, he had caught the fringes of the plume and the world began to tilt. Through his hazy vision he saw a sudden streak of black, white and mocha tackling the rogue, just moments before something had quite literally jerked him off his feet and far beyond the reaches of the disorienting cloud.

"Deep breaths," a voice, somewhat familiar, instructed. "The effects lasts only a minute or so."

Fenris looked up at the owner of the voice. "You?" He spluttered. "What are you doing here?"

"That's gratitude for you," was the sarcastic reply, even if a smile came with it.

"Is that –?" Fenris pointed back at the ravine.

"Yes."

"Shouldn't we be helping?"

"It'll be fine. More importantly, don't you want to get your kitty cat out of the tree?"

 _Anders!_ Fenris scrambled to his feet and ran off towards the lynx. The lynx had given up struggling, instead he was hissing and growling angrily. At least, he hadn't been hurt. Despite Fenris' most gentle efforts, the lynx refused to allow him near enough to cut the latter out of the net.

"Here, try this," Fenris' new companion said and handed him a piece of jerky. Upon smelling the food, the lynx settled down a little, just enough to snatch it away from Fenris. While the lynx was distracted, Fenris hurriedly cut the net to free the lynx, who summarily gave him an indignant mewl before ascending a tree to sulk.

Laughter drew Fenris' attention back to the ground. "Lovers' tiff?"

Fenris ignored the jibe. "You still haven't said why you're here, Hawke." 

Before Hawke could answer, they were interrupted. 

"That was invigorating. I haven't played like this in a while," Isabela said, leading Fenris' horse behind her.

"You didn't kill him did you, Isabela?" Hawke asked, eying the body that was draped over the black gelding.

"Hawke, I'm offended you think I would kill a friend so easily."

"Wait!" Fenris exclaimed, "That hunter is your friend?"

"Lovely to see you too, sweet thing," Isabela crooned. "And yes, Zevran is a friend, but he's not a slave hunter. He's Antivan Crow."

Fenris snarled. "So Danarius has resorted to have us killed."

Isabela shrugged. "Zev _is_ a very good assassin, but Crows in general are mercenaries, they do anything they are paid to. Why don't we wake him up then we can ask him?"

"And I suppose he would be forthcoming?"

"Certainly. I can be very persuasive," Isabela purred with a wicked grin.

"That can wait," Hawke interrupted while coaxing the lynx out of the tree with another piece of jerky. "Let's get out of here first; it's not safe here and we have a lot to talk about," Hawke said while giving Fenris a pointed look.

Fenris wasn't sure where they were going but Hawke seemed determined to lead, thus he made no protest. Moreover, the lynx seemed to have succumbed to Hawke's bribery, often darting to and fro to snatch another morsel of jerky from Hawke's hand.

Soon after, the Crow had awaken and Isabela had untied him from the horse, but she kept his hands bound and leashed. They walked side by side, nattering like a pair of fish wives. To his credit, the Crow did not attempt to escape nor did he even ask to be untied. It was a very strange relationship to say the least.

"To answer your first question," Hawke began, drawing Fenris' attention away from the rogues, "We're here looking for you. Varric was getting jittery, and you know it takes quite a bit to get him jittery."

Fenris was confused. "I'm not entirely certain I understand why he should be."

"He knew the Crows had been hired. He told you, didn't he? But you never sent any word back."

"I recall no such —" Fenris began but stopped abruptly when he vaguely recalled a surly dwarf and his flamboyant beard handing over a small sheet of parchment. It had happened barely an hour before Fenris had run into Merrill. In the ensuing battles and near-death experience followed by their endeavour to finding shapeshifters and decrypting legends, Fenris had completely forgotten about that last message. "You have my sincerest apologies. Much had happened on the day I received the message. I have yet to ... read it."

"Well, it doesn't matter now. We managed to stop them."

"Pardon me," the Crow interrupted. "I couldn't help but overhear, but the Crows do not stop until the job is completed. When they realise that I have failed, they will simply send another in my place."

"That is true," Isabela agreed. "Those bloody Crows are as stubborn as mules. Why don't you give us the details of this job, Zev."

The Crow shifted his gaze to Fenris briefly then back to Isabela. "A friend of yours, I take it?"

"Yes, and I don't take kindly to my friends killing each other, paid or otherwise."

"Ah, then you don't have to worry. I was not sent to kill this time; only to capture. My blades aren't even poisoned." He smiled winsomely. Fenris remained unconvinced.

"How very considerate of you," Fenris drawled sarcastically.

"Indeed, the client was adamant that you be brought back alive and with as little injuries as possible."

"And the lynx?"

"Valuable but expendable."

Fenris growled and took a menacing step forward but Hawke laid a hand on his chest to stop him.

"Where are you to deliver them?" Hawke asked instead.

"Kirkwall."

"And the name of the client?"

The Crow smiled. "Something tells me you already know."

"Tell us anyway."

"Danarius."

"Thank you, my sweet thing," Isabela pecked the Crow on the cheek. "I hope you don't mind if we kept you tied till we figured out what we're going to do."

"By all means; you know I never complain when a beautiful woman ties me up." He winked.

"Flatterer. What now?" Both Isabela and Hawke turned to look at Fenris. "It's your head on the block."

"Kill Danarius," Fenris replied simply.

"Well, that goes without saying," Hawke said.

Fenris sighed wearily. The anger bubbling in him was clearly affecting his ability to think straight. He still wanted to wring the neck of that smarmy, little Antivan Crow. Eventually, he said, "Talk to the mage. He has much to share. Moreover, sunset is upon us. We should find a suitable place to camp."

~*~

"Such exciting adventures you've had!" Isabela said by way of greeting when Fenris returned to camp at dawn.

"You sound like Merrill," he muttered, pulling his clothes and armour on. The first thing he noted was that the Antivan Crow was finally out of his bonds. It would seem they had decided on something overnight. Both he and Hawke were still fast asleep.

"Oh, yes, the curiously ebullient Dalish mage. I should've liked to meet her."

"Why are you up so early?"

"Do you know how long it takes for me to look this good?" She chuckled, turning to stoke the fire.

Fenris honestly never knew for sure if she was joking or not. Isabela seemed to approach everything in life with laughter, mocking or otherwise. Even though he hadn't known her for long, and despite their contrasting personalities, they got on well together. He liked her. She was bold and fearless, compassionate and loyal, and Fenris was fortunate that she considered him a friend. 

In addition to that, Fenris, and Anders, owed her a life debt; for it was she who had dared to harbour wanted Tevinter fugitives and spirit them away from Seheron.

"Breakfast?" Isabela's voice drew him from his thoughts. She was crouched by the fire stirring a pot of what smelled like porridge. After Fenris declined, she moved to wake the other two rather roughly. "Wake up, you lazy sods. It's a long way to South Reach."

"Why are we headed there?" Fenris asked.

"To get a message to Varric. It's the nearest dwarven guild from here. After that, we head to Denerim."

"No!" Fenris exclaimed. "We do not go to such populated city. It is simply too dangerous."

"My ship is docked there. If you want to go to Kirkwall, it'll be the fastest way. Don't worry, we'll take precautions."

"And Kirkwall, too? What folly is this?" He threw his hands in the air in exasperation.

"It's not that complicated," Hawke said. "Isabela is just lousy at explaining things. Danarius is in Kirkwall. He's waiting for Zev to bring you to him there, yes? You need Danarius as part of your curse breaking ritual, yes? So we lay a trap – let Zev bring you to him as bait, take him alive and then go to wherever this elusive eclipse of yours is to get the curse lifted."

Fenris looked skeptical. Hawke made it sound like child's play. "It would not be easy to take him alive. He will be well protected."

"Naturally. It'll take time to get to Kirkwall. I'm certain by that time, we would have a more detailed plan of action. Varric is also currently in there, with his boundless resources, we'd probably be able to stage a mage rebellion and get away with it." Hawke chuckled.

"And what is to stop the Crow from betraying us?"

"Honour and life debts," Isabela replied confidently, if enigmatically. "You'll behave, right, Zev?"

"As if you were lining my pockets with gold," the Crow bowed floridly.

"Also," Hawke continued, "Anders said we're looking for a mage's almanac. We could probably find one in Denerim."

Finding no more fault with the plan for the moment, Fenris agreed, if somewhat grudgingly. 

As he waited somewhat impatiently for the others to ready themselves for travel, he was surprised to find the lynx trotting into the camp towards Hawke, who absently reached for a piece of jerky and handed it to the lynx. 

Throughout their journey to South Reach and subsequently towards Denerim, the lynx stayed in close proximity to Hawke. It vexed Fenris, even though he wasn't sure why. Having the lynx close was actually a good thing; at least it would be less likely for him to wander into another trap and other dangers. However, why was the lynx following Hawke around like an imprinted mabari pup?

One morning after Fenris had returned, while Hawke and the Crow were still abed, Isabela approached to help him with his armour.

"You've been very grumpy," she said. "Is something bothering you?"

"No," Fenris replied shortly.

"Ok, let me rephrase that – I know what's bothering you, so let's talk about it."

Fenris looked at her with a frown, and declined to respond.

"Alright then, I'll talk, you listen," Isabela continued, undeterred. "Once upon a time, a beautiful, fearless Raider Captain stumbled across an errant Apostate. Impoverished and desperate for a better life away from the Templars, the Apostate had bartered his way onto the Captain's ship in exchange for his services as a healer. The Captain agreed to take the apostate to Tevinter once his 'payment' was paid in full.

"Thus, the Apostate sailed with the Captain for a time, never once shirking his responsibility and they became friends. The Apostate also became friends with the First Mate. They got on like a house on fire; perhaps because they were both cut from the same cloth."

"Wait," Fenris interrupted. "Are you saying Hawke is a mage?"

Isabela smiled knowingly.

"A mage?" He repeated skeptically, eying Hawke's leather armour and twin blades. "Where are the pretentious incantations and obnoxiously florid hand gestures? The cumbersome robes and ostentatious staff?"

Isabela laughed. "Where indeed? The First Mate, a hedge mage, had spent a lifetime in trying to hide from the Templars. Being a Raider was the first step, but using the common brand of magic always brought a degree of risk, especially onshore. The Apostate knew of a better way – an ancient lost magic that could turn a mage into a warrior, an Arcane Warrior.

"The Apostate brought the First Mate to an old friend, a seasoned Arcane Warrior, and the First Mate soon mastered the skill. With the power of an Arcane Warrior, which was bolstered by the strength of Force spells, the First Mate was now able to complete the disguise as a Raider and gratitude towards the Apostate was immeasurable.

"Since then, they have remained kindred spirits."

After a moment's silence, Fenris asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

"People make all sorts of deep and meaningful connections all the time, sweet thing. Some are ephemeral, others last a lifetime. Not _all_ of them are romantic love." She cast a meaningful glance at Hawke and the lynx, who had once again wandered back into their company after his own change. 

Fenris stood abruptly, and replied rather stiffly, "That has nothing to do with me. Who the mage chooses to spend his time with is entirely his business."

"Is it, really?" Isabela challenged.

"Of course! If it weren't for this wretched curse I wouldn't have been burdened by his presence, and vice versa. Are we ready to leave yet?" With that, Fenris snatched up his own backpack and hustled everyone on.


	12. Chapter 12

It had been many, many years since Anders had set foot within the walls of Denerim, the largest city and the capital of Ferelden; and this time he felt a shroud of uneasiness stifling him, more so than ever. They had entered the city shortly before sunset. When Anders resumed his human form they were already aboard Isabela's ship. 

"Don't worry," Hawke said, even before Anders asked. "He's fine."

"Oh, of course. I'm sure it all went fine, I'm not worried. Did I say I was worried?" Anders babbled. 

"Never thought I'd see the day when the philanderer is tamed." Hawke chuckled.

"Shut it. It's not like that. If he wakes up–"

Hawke scoffed. "I may not be some hoity-toity Circle mage, but I _do_ know how to cast a sleep spell. I had a lot of practice with my brother."

"What?"

Hawke laughed again. "Just kidding, I've only done it three, maybe, four times; half a dozen at the most; maybe a dozen. In any case, don't fuss. I'll watch over him. Isabela is waiting for you on deck. It's time you went shopping."

Anders sighed and headed up, turning once to look at the large canvas-draped cage sitting in the middle of the cargo hold. Sometime during the day, Zevran had, apparently, borrowed a cart and a cage for the last leg of their journey into Denerim. Before they entered the city, the lynx had been lured into it, covered and transported into the city without any fuss. 

Seeing that they had to remain in populated areas, and, subsequently, aboard Isabela's ship, both Anders and Fenris simply had to be contained during their transformation. Anders had no qualms about it, but they all had concerns about caging a wolf. What surprised Anders was that Fenris had agreed to be placed under a sleeping spell just before sunset and then placed in the cage. Anders had not realised that he had trusted Isabela and Hawke this much. It was good to know that he did indeed have people he could depend on. After all, Fenris would need some help in building a new life after the curse has been lifted.

Despite his own yearning, Anders did not dare presume they would stay together. Once Danarius was taken care of, Fenris would be free. However, Anders would remain an apostate and would be hunted by the Chantry forever. Being on the run was not much of a life, and Anders felt that Fenris deserved better. A chance of living free. Anders had no doubt that between Varric and Isabela they would be able to help Fenris in finding this new life.

They headed to the market district. Most stalls had already closed for the day. Isabela strode through the square towards a dwarven weapons stall. She spoke briefly to the merchant – Grolin, Gorim, Anders didn't quite catch his name. The merchant handed an envelope to Isabela, a note from Varric, no doubt, then suggested to her a place called The Wonders of Thedas. Anders had heard of that shop back in his Circle days – the best place in Ferelden to procure all manner of exotic magical artefacts. Most importantly, it was sanctioned by the Chantry. It is more than likely they would find a copy of the almanac there. 

The moment Anders stepped over the threshold he could feel the hum of magic in the air. It made him shiver. While Isabela approached the Tranquil proprietor, Anders was drawn to the many merchandise displayed. As he browsed, his fingers itched to touch the smooth grain of a staff and ached to feel the thrill of magic seeping under his skin by donning a set of well-made robes. Thankfully, Isabela concluded their business swiftly and handed the almanac over to him.

She summarily manoeuvred him to the nearest tavern, citing she needed to slake her thirst before returning to the ship. 

"So are you buying?" Isabela asked with a cheeky grin. 

"I'm a still fugitive, you realise?" Anders lamented.

Isabela laughed as she slipped the serving wench a couple of coins. "You've been a fugitive from the moment I met you. I remember you paying for a few rounds before."

"I was just an apostate before," Anders corrected, taking a sip. "Maker, when was the last time I had a drink? "

"Too long, by the sounds of it." The Captain grinned, downing her pint. "And what's the difference between fugitive and apostate, really?"

"Well, unless I seriously resist, the Templars will just lock me up forever. Danarius, as we've discovered, is quite happy to have me killed."

The Captain chuckled. "Well, with a bit if luck, we'll sort this mess right out and you can go back to being _just_ an apostate."

"Funny you should say that, I was just thinking about it earlier."

"You're welcomed to join my crew. It's pretty hard to catch someone out in the open sea. You're also a better healer than Hawke, and, you and Fenris are quite easy on the eyes." She leered at him.

"Ah, Captain Isabela, you flatter me. I'm not sure the open sea is for me. Haven't you had enough of me the last time? But I can't speak for Fenris. You should ask him yourself."

Isabel groaned. "You two are so painful to watch. All this dancing around each other is making my teeth ache."

"What are you taking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about. Even Zev could tell how hopelessly in love you two are with each other."

"That's ridiculous. It's just the curse, it bound us together magically. Whatever you and Zev saw is the product of your imaginations," Anders exclaimed, hiding behind his pint with little effect. Under Isabela's unyielding gaze he eventually said, "Alright, I admit I am ... greatly ... concerned about ... his well being."

Isabela scoffed. " _Greatly concerned?_ You keep telling yourself that and he's gonna slip away before you realise. Man up! You know as well as I do, you're going to have to be the one to make that leap of faith."

"Once we deal with Danarius, he's free to go and do whatever he wants. If we assume you are right about Fenris' feelings – even though I think you're not, because I know how he feels about mages – I can't expect him to keep running with me."

"Maybe not, but don't you think he deserves to make that choice for himself? All his life he's been told what to do, when to do it; let him decide for a change." Isabela paused, finishing off her pint. "Speaking of which, are you really planning on running for the rest of your life?"

Anders nursed his drink as Isabela ordered another. Eventually, he spoke, "I haven't thought that far ahead yet, to be honest. But I'll come up with something. Heh, maybe I should join the Grey Wardens; I heard that they don't mind an apostate or two. Additionally, the Divine has no authority over them."

"Well, whatever you decide, good luck!" Isabela toasted him. "Just don't disappear without saying goodbye."

"I won't," Anders promised.

They continued chatting over their drinks and Zevran soon appeared. When Isabela asked him where he had been, he smiled mischievously and replied nonchalantly that he had been into the castle.

"Did you steal something from the King?" Isabela asked, sounding very much like a Chantry sister.

"It would be more accurate to say I _borrowed_ something from the Queen," he said gesturing over his shoulder.

Not far away from him, a tall, broad and hooded figure approached. Even though Anders could not see the face hidden under the hood, Isabela seemed to recognise the man. They greeted each other warmly. Zevran introduced the man to Anders as Al, who had chosen to remain hooded. Before long Al, Zevran and Isabela struck up a conversation to reminisce about their past misadventures involving someone they only referred to as the Warden. Anders imagined that the stories would've been very interesting; Merrill certainly would've enjoyed them. However, Anders scarcely paid any attention to the trio. 

Instead, his mind was churning through the thoughts that Isabela had shared with him. A part of him was filled with skepticism – in all honestly, he wouldn't put it past Isabela to play matchmaker, but he also knew she wouldn't fabricate emotions for the sake of her amusement. 

Anders would be the first to admit that he had never before considered the notion of a lasting relationship with anyone; but that did not mean he was unwilling to commit. He simply believed that his circumstances had not allow him to. 

Notwithstanding, things have change; more than he had imagined. For starters, he was finally ready to admit that he was hopelessly in love with Fenris. The thought itself put a goofy smile upon his face. Secondly, they had spent too many years together for him to simply give up and walk away. If Isabela was right about their feelings being mutual, then he was going to fight for it, even if it meant fighting Fenris himself. Maker, and Anders, knew how obstinate the elf could be.

Notwithstanding, he was getting ahead of himself. First and foremost, they had to break the curse.

It was near midnight when Al decided that it was best he returned to the castle before the castle guards tore it, and Denerim, apart looking for him. He bade the others goodbye and promptly left. Anders looked at the retreating figure curiously, then innocently asked why the guards would be looking for him. 

Isabela chuckled. "You've been away from Ferelden for too long, my friend. Didn't you know you just spent the evening drinking with the King?"


	13. Chapter 13

A sense of apprehension roiled in the pit of Fenris' stomach. Not so much because he had been blindfolded and shackled, but because he was approaching the moment which would decide his future once and for all. 

With the mages' almanac in hand Anders had quickly discerned the location and time of the next eclipse. Coincidentally – or perhaps it was fate? – the eclipse was due in Kirkwall a few days hence. Thus, Isabela had weighed anchor and had set sail for the City of Chains immediately. They had arrived in Kirkwall the day before and had been greeted by Varric, his city guard friend, Aveline, and Hawke's younger brother, Carver. 

They had immediately gathered for a council of war, so to speak, and had determined it was best for Fenris, Zevran, Isabela and Hawke to confront Danarius just before the eclipse. Holding the latter prisoner for long would give him greater opportunity to escape, to be freed, or, worse, be killed before they broke the curse. Once Danarius had been secured, the lynx, under the watchful care of Varric, Aveline and Carver, would rendezvous with Fenris and the others. Timing was essential. 

Fenris had been awash in agitation as he waited ever so impatiently for the auspicious hour to arrive. He had been eager to get going the moment they had disembarked in Kirkwall. He had spent most of his time pacing in Varric's room.

"Broody, I don't need a trench in my floor. Sit down, eat your breakfast, you just have to be patient," Varric had said with a stern glare. 

Fenris had thought about protesting but decided against it. Varric was right, as usual. While Fenris had taken a seat, he had chosen not to partake in breakfast. 

"Here," Varric had risen from his seat to retrieve something from his chest. "I have something for you. Well, it's more like I'm returning it to you." He hefted a large package onto the table.

When Fenris opened the package he was surprised to find his Blade of Mercy. It had clearly been well cared for.

"You kept this?" Fenris had asked with a crooked smile. "I thought you said it was unwieldy and ugly?"

Varric had shrugged. "It is, but I recalled one drunken night, you professed with great conviction you wanted to run this through Danarius' heart. Who am I to stand in the way of such a proclamation?"

Fenris chuckled as he lifted the sword and savoured its familiar weight.

"Careful!" Varric exclaimed, "I don't need you to redecorate! One more thing." He produced a set of manacles then explained, "I've rigged these, you can open them yourself. We thought you should look the part of a prisoner and all."

Fenris had looked at them dubiously for a moment but said, "Show me," as he held his hands out.

Several hours later, Fenris had settled himself into the role of a captured fugitive as convincingly as possible. 

"How are you holding up, my friend?" the Crow whispered into Fenris' ear, drawing his attention back to the present.

"I'm fine. Are we there yet?" Fenris replied just as softly.

"Nearly," the Crow said, "Up these steps and we'll be there soon."

Fenris nodded lightly.

No one was more surprised than Fenris himself when he had agreed to be place in such a position of vulnerability. He had no reason to trust the Crow, but Isabela seemed to have the utmost confidence in the other elf. While Fenris may always feel a little irked by the fact that the Crow had been sent to capture him and kill Anders, he understood that the Crow was merely carrying out his orders; much like Fenris had been when he was bound to Danarius' word. It was this understanding that allowed Fenris to place a measure of confidence in the Crow. Having Isabela and Hawke accompany them added to that confidence, too.

Through the thin blindfold Fenris could make out the silhouette of two guards at the entrance of the estate. After a quick word from the Crow, they were escorted into a rather dilapidated mansion. Fenris could smell the damp and the dust in the air and was somewhat surprised that Danarius had not chosen a venue of pomposity and grandeur as befitting his ego.

"Magister," the Crow crooned, as he pulled Fenris' hooded cloak and blindfold off and shoved him forward. "As requested, one fugitive elf." 

"I'm impressed," Danrius said; he was stood atop a set of once-grand staircase. Two more guards flanked him. "You have succeeded where all others have failed. How did you do it?"

The Crow chuckled. "Trade secret."

"And the other one?"

"Dead," the Crow replied nonchalantly. "He resisted."

"Is that so?" Danarius asked in a tone of voice that set warning bells ringing in Fenris' head. Danarius then shifted his gaze to Fenris. "Do you think me a fool?" He sneered.

Then without warning, shades rose from the darkness in the room to surround Fenris and his companions. Fenris twisted his hands and the rigged shackles sprang apart. Hawke, who had been concealing Fenris' weapon, handed it to him. In an instant, they had all drawn weapons and moved into a defensive formation.

The Magister flicked his wrist negligently and commanded, "Kill them."

The shades attacked as Fenris and his companions surged forward to meet them. Silver flashed in a deadly whirlwind as they tore into infernal flesh. Even as more shades rose from the Void, they cut them down one by one. 

In the chaos of the battle, Fenris saw Danarius taking the opportunity to retreat and immediately gave chase. A short chase led Fenris to a large dining hall, robbed of its former glory, where Danarius stood cockily at the head of broken table.

"My little wolf, I finally have you back," the Magister drawled. 

Fenris snarled. "I am no longer yours to have!"

Danarius laughed. "Is that so? You believe the healer now owns you? Well, it's of no moment. Hadriana would've found and killed your precious healer by now."

"No!" Fear began to creep into Fenris' chest. Hadriana despised Anders, she would delight in killing him, even if he had no memory or inkling of being Anders. Without his magic, he would not be able to defend himself against her.

"Oh, yes." A malicious smirk curled Danarius' lips. "I do not take kindly to thieves and traitors. I have every confidence in Hadriana to deliver a fitting punishment."

Alight with rage, Fenris howled as his namesake would and lunged at the Magister. Lost to all reason, he no longer cared about the curse. Danarius' death was the only thing that had any meaning to him. Nothing else mattered. 

As the battles raged on within the mansion, none had noticed the darkening sky above them.


	14. Chapter 14

When human sentience returned to Anders, he was startled to find himself in a Hightown courtyard in the midst of a battle. 

He and his friends had planned for Fenris' team to secure Danarius, while the lynx was left in Varric, Carver and Aveline's protection. Fenris was certain that Danarius would've have had killed the lynx on sight and was adamant that Anders remained safe until Danarius had been subdued. Anders and his team were to meet up with Fenris just before the eclipse. Unfortunately, they had not anticipate being ambushed by Hadriana en route to the rendezvous point.

"Glad you could join us," Varric shouted at Anders over the din of battle as he fired a volley of bolts at an approaching shade. Not far from them, Aveline and Carver were facing off more Fade creatures. "Mind giving us a hand?"

"Not at all," Anders replied hurling a small orb of flames at a shade, which was incinerated upon impact. 

"Blondie, catch!" Varric called again, tossing a staff towards Anders.

As soon as Anders curled his fingers around the smooth grain of the wood, he could feel the thrill of magic suffuse his entire being. It has been too long since he last held a staff and he savoured every moment of it. Summoning from the depths of the fount of magic, Anders evoked a firestorm upon the enemy, simultaneously shielding and healing his allies.

When all the shades had fallen only one enemy remained – Hadriana. She looked startled to be confronted by a human Anders, which gave Carver the opportunity to strike her with a Templar spell, sending her careening across the ground. Anders never thought there'd be a day where he would be glad to see a Templar use Holy Smite on a mage. 

Before she could regain her composure, Carver landed another blow, this time with his fist, and she collapsed. 

"That was oddly satisfying," the Templar grinned.

Varric spoke up, "Blondie, you're on a tight schedule. Carver and I'll take care of her. Now go, hurry."

With that Anders took off at a dead run, only dimly aware that Aveline was at his heels. When they arrived at the mansion they found Hawke, Isabela and Zevran in battle. Aveline jumped straight into the fray but Isabela had swiftly redirected Anders towards where Danarius and Fenris had retreated to.

Anders tore through the mansion listening to the tell-tale signs of battle. It eventually led him to the dining room where the doors hung on broken hinges. Through them, Anders could see Danarius, glowing with a malevolent aura, and standing over a wounded and unconscious Fenris. Without any further thought Anders launched a barrage of spells upon Danarius, successfully driving the latter back and away from Fenris. 

The expression on Danarius' face mirrored that of Hadriana's when he realised who had attacked him.

"It's not possible!" He cried.

"Apparently it is." Anders replied with a mirthless smirk, striding boldly forward to stand between the Magister and Fenris. "A day without night, a night without day."

Unwittingly, Danarius' gaze flitted between Anders and Fenris, both in their true form. Then Anders felt it – felt the vice grip of the curse releasing his soul and in moments the bane had dissipated.

"It's over, Danarius. Your curse is undone," Anders said triumphantly. 

"If the curse will not claim you," Danarius roared, mana brimming in his palms, "Then death will!"

"Unlikely, old man," Anders snarled, raising a shield a moment before counter-attacking. 

The room erupted in a maelstrom of magic – incandescent filaments lashed wildly and the air reverberated with deadly intent as Anders marshalled every spell he had known to match the Magister blow for blow. As valiantly as Anders fought, he depleted his reservoir of mana just before Danarius had. Anders sank to his knees, exhausted.

"Is that all you have? A useless healer like yourself will not have the strength to best me," Danarius gloated, even though it was clear that he was not faring much better than Anders. He shuffled unsteadily towards Fenris, "Shall I make you watch as I rip out his heart or, would you like me to kill you first?"

Then without warning, Danarius gasped, clutching at his throat as if he was choking. 

With his last reserve of strength, Anders had executed his trump card. He had anticipated that in a weakened state, Danarius would succumb to this form of assault. His gamble had paid off. 

"That's the problem with you _magisters,_ " Anders said, emphasising the last word with scorn. "You think slicing up your arm and getting a demon to fight your battles is what makes you a powerful **mage.**

"You see, us, useless healers, have intimate knowledge of how the body works," Anders continued speaking in a clinical, professional tone. "What you're experiencing, for example, is the swelling of your throat, slowly cutting off your air. I could quite easily kill you this way, but it is Fenris' fondest wish that you die by his sword." Anders rose to retrieve the Blade of Mercy. "Any last words?"

Danarius summon enough strength to look up and hiss a vile epithet at Anders, just before Anders plunged the Blade into his heart.

Anders was not a wicked man, neither was he a blood-thirsty one. While he may have taken a few lives in the course of his life, he did so in defence of himself and his, and without any enjoyment of the kill. Yet as he watched the blood drain from Danarius, he could not deny the satisfaction that washed over him.

Bereft of strength and mana, Anders could only sag beside the still-unconscious Fenris to hold his hand, savouring the much-missed sensation of simply touching the elf. It was then the reality struck Anders. It was truly over – the curse, the enslavement, the constant running. From then on, he and Fenris could finally rebuild their lives, be it together or otherwise.

~*~

Ruefully, when Anders awoke, two days hence, he was not too surprised, even if he was disappointed, to find that he would be doing any kind of rebuilding by his lonesome. 

Isabela had been the bearer of bad news. Apparently, the elf had quite literally stolen away in the dark of the previous night with nary a goodbye to anyone one of them. The pirate had been thoroughly vexed and indignant on Anders' behalf, she had half a mind to pay Zevran to run Fenris down and drag him back, preferably kicking and screaming. It was Varric's more grounded disposition that had persuaded her, and the others, that Fenris would not take kindly to that intrusion. Clearly, the elf had wanted the solitude and who where they to deny him that?

Surprisingly, Anders understood. For the first time in Fenris' life he was free – no master, no curse, no magic, or mage, to bind him. Anders could not blame him for wanting to that freedom; hadn't he dreamt of such liberty himself?

Despite the ache in his chest, Anders really did wish Fenris the best. After all, the elf's well being was his first and foremost duty.


	15. Chapter 15

**Epilogue**

"Someone's coming up the path!" The young boy exclaimed urgently as he pelted into the examination room.

Anders looked up from his work – binding the broken arm of a teenage girl, too adventurous and foolhardy for her own good – and asked jokingly, "Are they Templars?" The boy, Dougal, tended to get excited over the tiniest little thing.

Dougal shrugged. "I dunno. Ain't seen a Templar before."

"And pray you never, boy!" Aoife, the boy's elder sister, said. "Off to your chores now, don't be badgering Anders for nothing."

The boy shuffled off muttering under his breath about slave drivers and such. Anders couldn't help but smile. He counted his blessings to have stumble upon this little close knit community and to be welcomed as one of their own.

Anders had spent a short stint aboard Isabela's ship after they had left Kirkwall. As always, the Captain welcomed him and he paid his dues as a diligent member of the crew. Being a Raider wasn't on the top of this bucket list; and if he was honest, it was more likely at the bottom, if it made it to his list at all. However, given that he hadn't really planned for a life after the curse, being one was a good a job as any.

After several months of "moping" – as Isabela had bluntly described him – she was tired of it. She had shrewdly deducted that Anders had followed her in some hope that they would somehow run into Fenris as they traversed the length and breadth of Thedas. He denied it, of course, rather vehemently but that still didn't stop her from shoving a bulging purse – his cut of the booty – into his hand and practically kicked him off her ship. Her last orders were _"move on, go get a life!"_ Notwithstanding, there was an open invitation for him to rejoin the crew, should he really feel that was his vocation; but only after several years of moving on and getting a life.

Despite feeling somewhat abandoned when Isabela sailed away, he knew that it had been the right thing to do. He _had_ to move on and needed that kick in the butt to do so. So Anders had become an itinerant healer when he dared, or a simple labourer at other times.

One particularly rainy autumn, Anders had been passing through a mining village. Days of precipitation had turned most of the country lanes into a quagmire, and the risk of flooding had led to him extend his stay until the rain let up. At least, he had coin enough to enjoy a respite there. Anders had kept to himself for the most part, only socialising with the landlady, her help and a few regular patrons of the inn's taproom. On the fourth day of his stay, a young man burst into the taproom screaming hysterically about a landslide at the quarry. Everyone, Anders included, were on their feet in a flash. Anders knew then, there would be no more hiding his magic, not when he knew it could make all the difference in saving lives.

And save lives he did.

Thanks to the creative use of many of his spells, not a single soul was lost that day, and any injuries sustained, Anders healed proficiently. From that moment on, the entire village had adopted him as their own and vowed to protect him as they had protected them.

One of the men he had saved was Aoife and Dougal's father, who, fortuitously, owned an unused hunting cabin at the outskirts of the village. Situated on a high vantage point, the cabin overlooked the only path leading up to it. It was quite hard to sneak up on it, what with a hill and dense woodland at the rear and treacherous cliffs on either side of the path. Anders was quite happy to settle in it when he was offered the place.

Anders spent most of his days looking after the sick and the injured of the village as well as those in the neighbouring villages and farmsteads. Aoife and Dougal, whose family had pretty much adopted him, had in turn became helpers at his clinic.

Despite Dougal's propensity to make mountains out of molehills, he normally did not announce visitors with such excitement. Whoever was approaching must bear an unusual countenance. Anders did not believe Templars would be marching up his path, but he thought to check anyway. He asked Aoife to finish the binding before heading out. 

When he saw his unexpected visitors, he had the breath knocked out of his lungs. Swiftly, he collected his composure. Schooling his expression to one of amused aloofness he said, "Well, look what the cat dragged in."

Anders was immediately smothered in a sound hug and a loud squeal. He laughed and hugged Merrill back.

"You look good in daylight, Shem. Not as pale and pasty as I expected," Mahariel drawled.

Anders smirked. "I could say the same about you. Seeing you in daylight takes the edge of horror out of your complexion." 

"Touché." She grinned back. 

"Everything alright here?" Aoife had emerged from the cabin with a crossbow in hand, and eyed the elves suspiciously. She was probably drawn out by Merrill's squeal. 

"Yes," Anders replied. "Don't worry. Would you do me a favour and escort the children home?"

Aoife cast them another wary glance before she acquiesced and then gathered the children.

"I hope you have decent food in there. These open countryside are bad hunting grounds," Mahariel broke the silence as she marched into the cabin without invitation and pulled Merrill in along the way. 

Awkwardness and trepidation churn in Anders' gut with renewed vigour when the door slammed shut behind the girls. He turned to look at the last member of his unexpected visitors.

"You look well," Fenris eventually said, his expression and demeanour betrayed nothing of his feelings.

"Yes," Anders forced a carefree smile, "Well, I finally found a house by the country and now you've brought me a couple of nubile mistresses!"

Fenris smiled wanly. "Be certain Mahariel doesn't hear you call her that."

"She doesn't scare me," Anders replied bravely. "Not much. Not really. Please don't tell her."

Fenris looked amused. "Don't worry, I won't."

"So, if you're not here to bring me mistresses, what are you doing here? It's pretty remote, so don't tell me you were just passing through."

Fenris looked away, emotion flickering in his eyes. Several moment of silence passed before he spoke again, "I hoped to explain myself," his gaze still averted from Anders. 

"That's not necessary. You don't owe me anything," Anders replied immediately. 

It was perhaps the wrong thing to say when he noticed a sudden look of chagrin flitting across green eyes. It disappeared as quickly as it manifested. Anders wanted to hope, to feel some kind of expectation from this surprising visit but he didn't dare. There was no denying that he was heartbroken when Fenris vanished into the night so many years ago, but in the time that he had settled down in this unassuming little village, he had felt like he was finally moving on. He wasn't quite prepared to let go of his hard won progress just because Fenris had reappeared. 

When the air began to thicken with disquiet again, Anders spoke up, "Why don't you come in and have a bite before Mahariel eats it all."

Fenris nodded and and followed Anders in. They found the girls helping themselves to bread and the stew that was warming in the hearth. Merrill complimented him on the well-made food. She had not tasted shemlen cuisine before. 

It made Anders laugh. "All compliments to Aoife. Surely you don't think I could cook?"

"Is she the one with the crossbow?" Merrill asked. 

Anders nodded and Merrill, ever curious, continued to question him. She wanted to know where he had been, what he had been doing and how he came to live in an unnamed village in the middle of nowhere. Anders was happy to regale her with more of his misadventures; at least that kept his mind off the subject of jilted love and similar melodramas. Merrill, in turn, told him of their own – of how Fenris had gone in search of, and subsequently joined their clan; how she and Mahariel had schooled him the ways of the Dalish and soon come to think of him as kin. 

Anders' heart lightened to hear how Fenris had found a family and home; not unlike Anders had. Perhaps this was where their crossed paths will finally diverge. They each have found contentment in their separate lives, and this finally meeting would give them the opportunity to tie up any loose ends and truly move on. 

Before long, Mahariel began complaining about the long journey they had to take to find Anders and peremptorily asked for beds. Thankfully, the cabin was well-furnished with futons for patients. Mahariel got herself comfortable then pretty much forced Merrill to retire as well; even if the latter did point out that the sun hadn't even set yet.

Anders wasn't stupid, and he both appreciated and resented Mahariel for trying to push him and Fenris together. She reminded him of another bossy, and unrepentant rogue.

Anders found Fenris sitting on the porch to the cabin looking out into the darkening sky, and absently stroking Anders' pet cat. He seemed to be deep in thought and Anders hesitated in disturbing him, but before Anders could retreat, Fenris turned to regard him.

"I must apologise for Mahariel," he said sounding a little exasperated. "But I'm sure you remember how aggressive she can be."

"Yes, I remember." Anders smiled at that fond memory. "Can I offer you a drink? Or maybe you'd like to head to bed, too? I've prepared one for you."

"Perhaps later, thank you. I have come to enjoy watching the sunset." He smiled wistfully. "Seeing it .... reassures me." Then he chuckled quietly. "It sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?"

"Actually, no. I know exactly what you mean."

Silence encroached and it was one absent of uneasiness. A strange sense of nostalgia and apprehension coursed through Anders, as he remembered the last fateful sunset they had shared. He craned his neck around, searching the skies. Fenris cast him a curious glance. 

"Just making sure there isn't a selenehelion creeping up on us," Anders joked. 

Fenris laughed. It was a heartening sound and Anders had missed it dearly. As much as he had denied it amidst his claims of moving on, Anders had never stopped loving the elf. Nevertheless, he would not proclaim it; not if it meant his love would cast another chain upon Fenris.

"Your mate has not returned, are you not worried?" Fenris suddenly asked. 

"My mate?" Anders quirked his eyebrows. "You mean Aoife? Andraste's knickerweasles, she's not my mate. More like an unnecessarily overprotective little sister."

"Oh," Fenris replied shortly. After a moments pause he continued, "When you said she was family, I just assumed..." He trailed off. 

"Ah, right, you thought she'd be my plump wife. Although I don't think Aoife should be called plump. Not unless you want to catch a quarrel in the eye. Maker, why am I always surrounded by such headstrong women?"

Fenris only smiled in response. They sat in companionable silence as the sun sank well below the horizon.

"I want to show you something," Anders said. "Don't go in a panic. I promise you, I'm in full control of it."

Fenris looked at him with furrowed brows. "Is this some mage trickery? I have heard those words uttered many times and been at the receiving end of much mischief."

"Trust me."

"Famous last words."

Anders grinned then summarily shapeshifted into his lynx form, making Fenris utter a startled oath. Anders changed back just as swiftly. 

"I should've known," Fenris said quietly, an understanding smile touched his lips. "I thought that my brands made it possible. I thought that breaking the curse meant that the change would stop. I never would've guessed it meant giving us the _choice_ to want to change." Fenris then stood up and, following a faint shimmer of his brands, was replaced by the lupine form that Anders had been very familiar with.

Anders stared; he, too, assumed only he could shapeshift because he was a mage and never once wondered if Fenris had retained this rare ability.

Suddenly, an idea struck him. He crooked his finger at the wolf, shifted himself and ran off down the path. Fenris followed; and they ran skimming the foot of the mountain, sprinting over the plains and skirting the edges of the neighbouring farmsteads. They ran with wild abandon, and with no destination or purpose beyond the wish and the freedom to run. They teased unsuspecting nocturnal rodents for fun just as they chased each other in playfulness. In their animal forms, there was no reservations or hesitation in showing their affections towards each other. It was gratifying; it was liberating; and Anders relished every moment of it.

Time flew by and before they realised it, an encroaching lightness told them dawn was not far away. They returned to the cabin. Even as they dressed silently, they could scarcely avert their eyes from each other. The burgeoning hope in Anders' chest threatened to voice the confession of love that danced upon his tongue.

"I'm sorry," Fenris first broke the silence. He turned away, seemingly afraid to meet Anders' gaze. "I never meant to flee like a coward. But I needed to know then, to be sure that it wasn't the curse. I wanted to explain before I left but I was afraid that if I spoke to you, I wouldn't have been able to find the strength to go. I have regretted that all this time. I came because I needed to ask for your forgiveness, even if I don't deserve–"

Anders took courage in the connection they had re-established in the night and stepped up to the elf. The voice of one pirate captain echoed in his memory – _"Man up!"_ He spun the other man around and interrupted him with a fierce kiss, and through this kiss, he attempted to convey the sum of his love for Fenris. 

"You deserve everything that your heart desires, and more," Anders said with conviction. "There is nothing to forgive. _I love you._ I have for a very long time, even before the curse, and if you'll let me, I'll love you till the end of our days."

A look of relief and joy washed over Fenris' expression as he threw his arms around Anders and pulled the latter down for another kiss. "Maker, yes, I will let you," he replied with a mischievous laugh.

"At last," Anders sighed happily. "A house in the country, a wife and two nubile mistresses."

 

~FIN~


End file.
